


Down the Rabbit Hole

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alice in Wonderland References, Awkward Romance, Cheshire Cat!Tim, Crack, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Humor, Jason is done with this shit, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Quests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: Jason has seen a lot of strange shit in his life but he’s willing to bet a bottle of Bruce’s best bourbon and say this ranks right up there at the top. Wonderland. Or would that be Underland if he goes by the movie? Either way, Blondie has to be the White Rabbit. The outfit is definitely an improvement. Who else is going to appear in his hallucination?Because seriously, what else could it be?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TaneKore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaneKore/gifts).



> Yes, I know. I've been busy this weekend, but this chapter has been done for weeks now and I can finally post it because it's TaneKore's birthday! Happy Birthday, my dear!
> 
> Beta read by Nykyrianne. Thank you!

“Get down!” 

Tim’s warning comes too late and Jason finds himself with a face full of Scarecrow’s newest fear gas, right along with the mook he punches hard in the face. 

Shit. Not good. Jason tries to hold his breath for as long as he can while trying to escape the noxious fumes but the maze that is the floor of this warehouse has him turned around in no time. What a night to be caught without his hood. 

At least the asshat he was fighting has the luxury of being unconscious on the floor at his feet. Are there more? Jason can’t remember if there were. He should know and he doesn’t. Fuck.   
  
A cowled figure lands almost soundlessly next to him, mouth covered in a gas-mask. It takes all of Jason’s self-control not to lash out at Tim’s freaky looking form. Someone came prepared tonight.   
  
“Hood, you okay?”  
  
He sucks in a deep breath and shudders as his lungs burn. A wracking cough hits him like a sledgehammer and he crashes to his knees, relearning how to breathe. His vision wavers but he tries hard to focus on Tim. Tim, who means so much to him and loves him in spite of all the shit he’s put him through.   
  
“Jay?”  
  
Jason coughs again. He can hear the wheeze in his breathe as he struggles for air. “Diff-rent,” he manages to choke out.   
  
“Yeah, that’s obvious. Just concentrate on breathing. Any hallucinations yet?” Tim presses two fingers against Jason’s throat, checking his already racing pulse. “The Scarecrow’s fear formula changes often so it’s hard to come up with a multipurpose antitoxin.”   
  
It’s a fact Jason knows all too well. 

He shakes his head in response to Tim’s question. Not yet. They both know they’re coming though. The fear gas can sometimes take time to break down into a person’s psyche and draw out what they fear most. He has a feeling one of those fears has changed since the last time he was gassed. Before, he didn’t have Tim to be scared for. 

“Just...get...me...outta...here,” he gasps, each word punctuated by a cough. This is different too. Normally it’s a quick inhalation, a few coughs and a sneeze and  _wham_  the shit’s in your system.   
  
Tim is already moving, dragging one of Jason’s arms over his shoulder and trying to get him to his feet. “Got to help me out here, Hood. I’ll fireman’s carry your ass if I have to, but I don’t what to hear you bitch about the bruises because it won’t be pretty.”   
  
Jason tries to laugh but it comes out as another harsh wheeze. “Love...you...Red.”  
  
“I love you too, Hood. Let’s get you out of here. A’s already called the car for us.” Tim staggers a bit under Jason’s weight. Jason isn’t much help, but he manages to get his legs in the right position to walk slowly.   
  
His breathing regulates a bit as they get further away from the center of the maze and he’s able to manage full sentences again. “What happened back there? I didn’t even see Crane.”  
  
Tim growls, frustration evident in his voice. “He wasn’t there. There was a remote trigger on those cases closest to you. Must have had a motion sensor involved. I didn’t see it until too late. I’m so sorry, Hood.”   
  
If there’s one thing Tim excels at, it’s self-flagellation. All the Bats do, actually, himself included. “Not your fault,” Jason says with another cough. He’s starting to feel better, which is strange. Still, he’ll take it, since this means he can take some of his weight off Tim.   
  
They keep walking. It feels like an eternity since he was gassed but it can’t have been more than a handful of minutes. The silence between him and Tim is stifling. It’s not normally this way. Jason likes their shared silences, whether it’s at home and they’re both trying to stretch out on their overstuffed sofa and failing miserably or on patrol and they’re using hand signals to try and boss each other around or make fun of Dick.

This is a bad quiet.  
  
Jason can feel the hair on his neck prickle as he feels unseen eyes on him. On  _them_. Whether it’s paranoia or the fear gas kicking in, he’s unable to tell but he knows one thing for certain. It’s taking them too long to get out of this warehouse maze. They’re targets. Sitting ducks, even as Tim takes a left and Jason catches a whiff of fresh air.   
  
It makes him cough again. Dammit.   
  
“Red, we gotta get out of here,” Jason manages to murmur.   
  
“I know. We’re almost there. Hang on a little bit longer.” Tim takes right and they’re suddenly in a wide open space looking out over the covered pier and the expanse of Gotham Harbor.   
  
Jason’s confused. This isn’t the street and the safety of the Batmobile. “What did A send? The boat?”   
  
“He sent the car. I told you that already.” Tim sounds like he’s lecturing a child, his tone taking on an infinite amount of patience as though he’s repeated himself a few times now. For all Jason knows, he has.   
  
“Then why are we at the dock?” he asks, knowing he sounds petulant and not caring in the slightest.   
  
Tim gives him an obvious look of concern. “We’re not at the dock.”   
  
Jason shakes his head, trying to clear it. He knows he’s fucked up, but this is unreal. “Yes, we are. I can see the pier right there.” He even points at it.   
  
“The gas has to be messing with your head already,” Tim says. “We’re in the alley where the car is supposed to meet us.”  
  
Every sense Jason has is screaming at him in warning now. He rips his arm away from Tim and backs away cautiously. “We’re at the dock. I can smell the air, Red. I can _feel_ the breeze.”   
  
“No, that’s the sewer grate you’re standing on. Smells like Killer Croc’s breath on a good day.” Tim holds up his hands and slowly approaches Jason. “The car’s ETA is three minutes. We’ll be able to hear it soon.”  
  
No. No, this can’t be right. Jason looks down and sees the wooden planks that still make up the structure of the older piers in Gotham. If he concentrates, he can hear the water below him, the small waves lapping against the pylons. He purposefully draws in a deep breath and tastes the salty sea breeze.   
  
Shit. Whatever this stuff is, he’s doped up good. Reality can’t get much more fucked up than this. A loud  _creak_  rises up from beneath his feet.   
  
“Jason, don’t move,” Tim says warningly. He rushes forward and stops at the edge of the dock (alley? sewer grate?), holding out his hand. “Here, take my hand. The grate’s not holding your weight.”  
  
The creaking sound grows louder, and Jason can feel the planking quake under his boots. But he doesn’t move, a sudden horrible thought occurring to him. “Are you Red Robin?” he asks shakily. “If I’m seeing and smelling the docks while you’re telling me we’re in the alley, the only consistent factor is you and me. I know I’m real, so who the hell are you?”  
  
Tim brushes back his cowl. Pale blue eyes beg him to believe and his voice is heavy with poorly concealed urgency. “My name is Tim Drake. You’re Jason Todd. We’ve been dating for 14 months and just recently moved in together, mostly because you got tired of hauling your shit between safehouses and said that your Shakespeare collection deserves a good home. Your words, not mine.”  
  
It sounds like something Jason would say. And he also remembers all of this. Who else would know their names and such a personal fact? But he still hears the sound of water beneath him, which he knows he wouldn’t hear if he were standing on a sewer grate. He’s stood on them thousands of times. He shakes his head slowly and takes another step back. The creaking sound grows more ominous.    
  
_“Jason!”_  Tim shouts and reaches for him. “Take my hand.”   
  
“Who are you?” Jason asks again, and this time draws his gun. “What did you do with Red Robin?”   
  
Tim blanches but holds his ground. “Please, Jason. Take my hand. The car just arrived. It’s behind me. Can’t you see it?” he pleads.   
  
All Jason sees is the side of the old wooden warehouse where it opens out onto the pier. “This is a trap.”  
  
“You’re high on fear gas, Jay. You know this.”   
  
That’s right. He was sprayed earlier. How could he have forgotten so soon? The eyes are back on him, on them, and Jason whirls around to face them. “Come out and fight, you pieces of shit!”  
  
The movement is too much for the weak wood beneath his feet and it finally cracks, sending Jason plummeting into the darkness below.   
  
_“Jason!”_  he hears Tim shout.   
  
The sound is swallowed by the pitch-black tunnel he finds himself in. Looks like Tim was right after all and he really was standing on a sewer grate. Okay, strike one against him. At least he has the excuse of being fucked up in the head at the moment. Although Damian will argue he always is, so what else is new.   
  
Jason waits to hit the ground, the sewer channel, something. But he just keeps falling. It’s not even very fast either. In fact, it seems slower than most falls he’s taken. Hazard of the job, although Dick is the one who will throw himself into a free fall first and then shoot out his line just for the sensation of flight. He’s strange like that, or so Jason thought when they first met. Dick was in his weird glam rock meets disco phase and his uniform reflected his tastes. It didn’t stop him from teaching Jason how to fly on the trapeze, the one thing Dick taught him rather than Bruce. No one moves through the air quite like Dick.   
  
A case can be made for Kori though. But she’s a natural flier and just as comfortable in the air as she is on the ground. Not even Clark manages to fly like she does, simply for the sheer enjoyment of it.   
  
Okay, why hasn’t he hit the ground yet?   
  
Jason tries to peer into the darkness below him, but he’s still falling feet first into oblivion. Or is he? Can he even be certain he’s falling because, hello, fear gas? He doubts his boyfriend is even his boyfriend and wow, is he going to get the lecture when whatever wormhole he’s fallen into spits him out.   
  
This is by far the strangest concoction Scarecrow has ever come up with. Jason doesn’t feel afraid. If anything, he’s a bit anxious, but who wouldn’t be when they’ve been falling for several minutes and haven’t hit the bottom? He realizes he’s still holding his gun and holsters it. Shit, he pulled a gun on Tim. Jason sighs and shakes his head. He’s got some apologizing to do, even though he knows Tim will tell he doesn’t need to. They’ve all done and said things while out of their minds from the various toxins and poisons, let alone spores from Poison Ivy, that they’ve been exposed to. Hazards of the job.   
  
He wonders if the fear gas is making the fall seem slower than it normally would be.   
  
Jason tries to stay alert, but the darkness is warm and kind of comforting, as long as he keeps moving. The faint rush of air flowing past him keeps it from becoming reminders of his grave. He must have dozed off briefly because when he next opens his eyes (where they even closed?), the faint outline of shelves and cupboards appear before him.   
  
Now he really knows he’s high because he’s falling so slowly he can reach out and move things from the shelves if he wants to. So much for terminal velocity and the laws of physics. What goes up, must come down. His crash, both literally and mentally, is going to be  _spectacular_.  
  
The light slowly grows brighter as he falls. Just because he can, Jason reaches out and grabs a book from a shelf. May as well keep himself amused if this is going to take much longer.   
  
Of course, he grabs a recipe book. He heaves a massive sigh and forces himself to read it anyway. Alfred would be proud of him and who knows, perhaps he’ll find something new to make for him and Tim. The book is surprisingly detailed and full of recipes for different desserts Jason’s never even heard of before. He’s so engrossed in it that he doesn’t realize the ground is approaching until his ass hits it with a jarring  _thud_.  
  
“Motherfucker,” Jason swears, rising to his feet and rubbing his tailbone. He shoves the book into the inner pocket of his jacket and looks around.   
  
He’s in some kind of long, tiled hallway, lined with doors on either side. Glancing behind him, he spots a stone wall. Well, at least the way forward is clear. Still, because he is the paranoid sort ( _it’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you_  he remembers Tim saying), he readies a gun as a precaution.   
  
Something about this whole situation is tickling his memory, but try as he might, nothing comes to mind. Jason walks forward, testing each door as he comes upon it and confirms they’re all locked, at least from his side. His lockpicks will come in handy if he’s shit out of luck with the rest of them.  
  
He’s passed over a dozen doors when he hears the  _slam_  of one opening up ahead. Jason instantly tucks himself against the closest door jamb, trying to make himself a smaller target for whatever is approaching him. The sound of heeled shoes upon the floor tiles echo strangely.   
  
“Oh, my ears and whiskers, I’m late. Heads are gonna roll and they sure as shit better not be mine.”   
  
The voice is feminine but that’s not what has Jason locking up in surprise. It’s the sight of Stephanie stalking towards him in a bunny costume that wouldn’t look out of place on Dinah Lance, the Black Canary. She’s got a leather jacket to go with it, even if her costume is all white rather than the black he’s used to. For that matter, Steph’s taking the whole costume thing a little too seriously as she’s even wearing a headband with bunny ears on them. Floppy bunny ears that are falling into her face as she storms down the hall.  
  
“What the shit, Blondie?” Jason says, stepping away from his meager shelter. “How’d you get down here? For that matter, how the fuck do I leave? Tim is gonna kill me.”  
  
The woman shrieks at him and throws a fan at his head. Her bunny ears twitch violently. “I’m already late, you dumbass! Don’t make it worse!”   
  
With that, she takes off down the hall, running past him with surprising grace in those spiked heels of hers. He can’t help but notice there’s a poufy little cottonball of a tail on her ass.   
  
“I think you’re taking the whole Playboy bunny thing a little too literally!” he shouts after her.   
  
The sound of another door slamming closed is his only reply.   
  
“Well, shit.” Jason runs a hand through his hair and looks around again. The hall doesn’t look any different than before but that niggling memory that this is all familiar is driving him up the wall. It’s like he’s fallen down the rabbit hole...  
  
Back the fuck up.   
  
Jason stalks back down the hall to where he first arrived after the long ass fall and sure enough, there’s a curtain hanging from what had been an empty wall before. A small glass table with a gold key sitting upon it are off to the left. He brushes the curtain aside and there’s a small door that he’d be lucky to get a foot through.   
  
Looking back at the table, there’s a little bottle on it now, next to the key.   
  
He knows where he is now. Or rather, he knows where he’s about to be soon if he can just get the door open.  _“Son of a bitch_. This is either going to be the worst or best trip ever.”   
  
Jason has seen a lot of strange shit in his life but he’s willing to bet a bottle of Bruce’s best bourbon and say this ranks right up there at the top. Wonderland. Or would that be Underland if he goes by the movie? Either way, Blondie has to be the White Rabbit. The outfit is definitely an improvement. Who else is going to appear in his hallucination?   
  
Because seriously, what else could it be? Jason’s starting to doubt now if he ever even fell. Dosed by fear gas? Emphatic yes. Rescued by Tim? Probably. That’s a little blurry now.   
  
“Maybe I didn’t pull a gun on him after all,” Jason mutters as he eyes the door and the bottle.   
  
As far as he can tell, this is his only way out because he’s sure as hell not going to grow into a giant and cry like a baby before shrinking down and floating away on a sea of tears. Still, best to be prepared. He places the bottle and key in a pocket and keeps a firm hold on them both while he stalks back up the hall to where the fan White Rabbit Stephanie threw at him lies on the floor. He collects it and returns to the small door.   
  
The key he places squarely on the floor in front of the door. None of this leaving it on the table bullshit. Jason takes the bottle out of his pocket and reads the elegant script.   
  
_Drink me_  
  
Right. He’d better keep all his clothes when he shrinks down because otherwise, he’s gonna sit his ass right here until he wakes up on his own or Bruce finds the right formula to create an antitoxin. Considering how much time he feels like has passed, Tim is probably right there with him.   
  
Jason eyes the bottle again, pops the cork, and drinks it in one long swig. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to get the tags right for this story. They'll come to me eventually!

The world on the other side of the door is not quite what Jason expects. Sure, it’s big. It’s bright. Colors are either intense or muted and the sky can’t quite decide if it wants to be cloudy or clear. One thing is for certain though…being this short sucks. Everything around him is enormous, from the pebbles that look like boulders to the bugs flying overhead that Jason could probably ride if he had a lasso to catch hold of one. Still, all his gear is intact, including his guns and the half-dozen or so knifes secreted about his person, so that’s a small favor. 

“Most fucked up trip ever,” he mutters as he blazes a trail through the waist high grass. If he had to guess, he’d say he’s about nine inches tall at the moment. There’s a cock joke there, but Jason bites his tongue, mostly because no one else is around to hear it. 

Or are they? This is a fear gas induced hallucination after all. 

Before he has a chance to test this little theory, Jason comes across a massive tree. Of course, everything is massive at this height but he’s pretty sure an English oak isn’t supposed to be that tall. There’s a ladder of mushrooms growing up the side. Under normal circumstances, he ignores wild mushrooms because his training did not include that level of outdoor survival and he’s not stupid enough to try and accidentally poison himself. 

But this is Wonderland where almost anything could make him tall again, so all bets are off. 

Jason cautiously eyes the mushroom in front of him. “One side will make you taller, one side will make you smaller,” he mutters, trying to remember the line from the book. “But which side?” 

“Do you always speak to yourself?” 

Jason jerks back a few steps and looks up. There, perched on a mushroom about a foot above his head, is Cass, her dark eyes painted with vibrant color. It complements the shimmery purple of the high-necked, fitted dress that folded gracefully around her. The style vaguely reminds him of something Lady Shiva wears or out of the anime Tim likes to watch, but Jason has never seen either of these women wear a full skirt before.

He backs up further back to get a better look at her. “You sure as shit weren’t there a moment ago,” Jason blusters. Is he that off his game? 

“Of course, I was. I can’t appear out of nowhere like the Cheshire Cat.” Cass raises a thin pipe to her lips and takes a drag. She blows a delicate smoke ring at him, which Jason waves away. The smoke has a spicy scent to it, almost like incense.  

“I’m not even gonna bother arguing with you.” There’s no point, not if she’s who he thinks she is in this fucked up tale. Are all the members of his family going to show up eventually? If so, he hopes Dick is a flamingo and Bruce is a hedgehog, so he can whack them around in a game of croquet. “Do you know which mushroom will make me taller?” 

“Why?” 

“Why? Because being nine inches tall sucks balls when you’re used to being six feet.” 

Cass blows another smoke ring at him. “There is nothing wrong with being nine inches tall. Or six for that matter.” 

This could go on all day. “If you’re used to it, sure. But I’m not, so can you help a guy out? Please?” Jason tacks on for good measure. 

The colorful young woman eyes him with a faint air of suspicion. “You said you are normally six feet tall?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Who are you?” 

Now here’s a question that Jason knows he can answer without going around in circles. “Jason Todd. Who are you?” 

“Absalom.” She preens and waves of what Jason thinks is fabric draped behind her twitch under her movement. They’re gossamer wings. Cass stands and spreads them wide, and flutters gracefully to the ground. 

She paces around him silently in little slippered feet. Her wings pick up different colors as she moves. “You are dressed strangely, even for this land,” Cass pronounces when she’s done, planting herself before him. 

“I’m not from here, sweetheart,” Jason can’t quite bring himself to call his sister by any other name than Cass, so he tries for charming. He can do it when he needs to, but it’s nothing like Dickie. “I just want to go home.” 

“Then you will need to see the White Queen,” she says and points in a direction over Jason’s shoulder, not quite back the way he came, but still. Backtracking while this size blows. 

He remembers the White Queen from the movie. “Can she make me the right height too?” 

“The left side of the mushroom should do it.” Cass spreads her wings and flutters back up to her perch where she picks up her pipe again. “Beware the Bandersnatch. And the Jubjub bird. Both have been seen wandering the garden recently. The Red Queen must be in one of her moods.” 

“Thanks, Absalom.” Jason uses her full name this time, figuring politeness won’t hurt here. He approaches the mushroom and yanks a piece off the left side. Just in case, he takes a piece from the right side too and places it in his right pocket. He walks out from under the tree as a precaution. Then, using his memories of the book and the movies as a guide, Jason takes a minute bite out of the left piece. 

He rockets upward. 

“Shit!” Jason swears when he finally stops. Gasping, he tries to catch his breath from his wild ride to check things over. “Well, I’m not nine feet tall, so there’s a plus.” His entire perspective of things is skewed from being so small, but he thinks he’s at about the right height now, give or take a few inches. He goes through a series of quick stretches and a kata he could do in his sleep to check his reach and range of motion.

Good enough. He pockets the small piece of the mushroom in his left pocket and nods politely to the tree, even if he can’t see Cass sitting there now. 

Manners. He has them. Alfred made sure. 

Jason chuckles as he starts walking in the direction Cass pointed him in. Alfred is going to love hearing about this when he wakes up. 

~*~*~ 

The garden or wherever the hell he is happens to be enormous. Jason walks in what he thinks is the right direction, but it’s hard to tell because he’s had to deviate from his path many times because of trees and rocks scattered here and there. He comes across an ornamental pond and spares a few moments to watch the koi swimming, their fancy tails bright and colorful in shades of red, blue, purple, and a brilliant green. They remind him more of beta fish than koi. 

At least they’re swimming in the water and not in the clouds. 

Jason looks up, just to make certain. 

What he doesn’t expect is a heartbreakingly familiar face smiling down at him from a thick tree branch a few feet overhead. Jason startles and almost falls into the pond, windmilling his arms to keep his balance. 

“Shit, Tim! Did you get sucked down here too?” If he did, then this isn’t a hallucination. That this shit’s all real...

Tim cocks his head to the side and gazes down at him with a curious expression on his face. “I don’t know who  _Tim_  is, but I suppose you can call me that if it makes you happy.” 

Jason’s heart sinks even as he rides a high of jubilation that this is still all in his drugged up head. “Fuck. Sorry. You just look exactly like my boyfriend and…” he trails off, running a hand through his thoroughly messed up hair. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” the lookalike smiles even brighter, revealing sharp fangs. He jumps off the branch and lands in a crouch a few feet from Jason. Standing, his pale blue eyes rake up and down Jason’s body. “I can work with that,” he announces. 

Jason, meanwhile, is having a miniature stroke because  _goddammit_ , he and Tim need to introduce a little role play in the bedroom. This version of Tim is dressed up in a catsuit that wouldn’t be out of place on Selina, complete with a whip wrapped around his narrow waist. What has him staring the most is the zipper trailing down the center of Tim’s chest, and the large silver ring making it that much easier to drag down. 

“Who are you?” Jason forces out. This isn’t his Tim. He shouldn’t be getting this worked up over him. But damn if he isn’t.

The man slinks forward on predatory feet, intent on his target. As he approaches, Jason notices the slits in his pupils and the actual cat ears twitching on top of his head. He stops a little too close and taps a sharply nailed finger against Jason’s chest. “I’m the Cheshire Cat,” he purrs. “And you look like someone who’d be fun to play with. What should I call you, hmm?” 

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, buddy,” Jason remembers at the last second he can’t take a step back or risk falling into the pond. “I’m Jason.” 

“I don’t  _bark_ ,” the Cheshire Cat replies primly. “Although I suppose I could if given the right incentive,  _Jason_.”

“I’m sure you could.” Jason resists the urge to swallow and show weakness in front of this man. Cat. Whatever. His lips are exactly like Tim’s… “Okay, well, I gotta go.” He shuffles off to the side and starts walking. This place is just getting stranger and stranger. 

“Where exactly are you going to?” 

“Gotta see the White Queen and ask for some help home. Or to wake the fuck up.” 

“You look wide awake to me, handsome.” Tim-Cat saunters along beside him.

Jason steals glances at him as they walk and notices a flash of silver in his ears. The cat’s ears are pierced. These little differences are vaguely reassuring. And extremely alluring, but even if this is some messed up dream hallucination, he is not cheating on Tim. Nope. Not even if Tim-Cat’s ass looks amazing in that suit and  _hot damn_ , that’s a fucking tail...

He jerks his eyes up and back onto the path, tripping slightly on a rock. So much for subtle.

The cat laughs at him. Of course, he had to fucking see that. “You said you’re off to see the White Queen, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then why are you going this way?” The innocuous question has Jason jerking to a stop. 

“Son of a bitch!” He must have gotten turned around somewhere. “Which way then?” 

Tim-Cat points off to the right. “That way. It takes you out of the garden. Just be careful.”

Jason remembers Cass’s warning. “Yeah, I heard about the Bandersnatch and the Jubjub bird already.” He’s not worried, not now that he’s mostly back to normal and so are his weapons. If he had to, he could probably pick the Jub-Jub bird out of the sky without having to get close.

The cat shakes his head. “No, not them. The Mad Hatter and the March Hare are that way.”

Memories of mind controlled little blonde girls, as well as Gotham’s version of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum flood Jason’s mind. “By any chance is the Hatter a short, round guy with an obsession for blondes?”

This garners him a curious look from Tim-Cat. “No. He’s tall, built rather like you, and has an obsession with hats. Who are you thinking of?”

Jason huffs a small sigh of relief and ignores the question as he starts walking again. The Mad Hatter isn’t someone he’s equipped to handle, not right now. A small EMP is usually needed to take out his army of drones. That kind of tech is more Tim’s style. The real Tim.  _His_  Tim, not this wannabe Tim who’s still trailing after him in snug black leather that could be painted on for all he knows. Why this is revving his engine more than Tim’s normal uniform does is beyond him.

“Look, Cat,” Jason tries, much to the evident amusement of the other man. “I appreciate you putting me back on the right path and all, but I don’t see why you’re comin’ along.”

A slitted blue eye winks at him. “A favor for a favor,” he replies with a wicked twist to his lips that drives a punch right into Jason’s gut. That’s Tim’s _I’m gonna fuck you up and enjoy it_ smirk. “Perhaps if I wrack up enough, I’ll get what I want.”

Jason tries not to stiffen under Tim’s assessing gaze, even if his cock protests. He’s been conditioned that sex typically follows shortly after Tim has brought the pain down on whatever unfortunate soul pissed him off. “What’s that?” he asks warily.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” 

~*~*~ 

The Cheshire Cat isn’t a horrible traveling companion. Jason doesn’t see much point in trying to lose him since he can vanish and reappear at will, a fact the cat confirms when he disappears to retrieve something from his den, wherever that is, only to appear further along the path since Jason purposefully keeps going without him.  

He doesn’t ask what Tim-Cat needs to get and the Cat doesn’t offer, although he looks entirely too smug.  

Asshole.  

If this were his Tim, that look usually bodes well for a post patrol fuck. But this is not his Tim, something Jason constantly reminds himself of, even if his dick is saying otherwise. The Cat is sex on a stick, from the tip of his boots to the ears on his head, and as much as Jason wants to wake up and just be done with this place, he also really wants to pull that silver ring down and lick at the lean muscles and pale skin that is revealed. 

Bad thoughts. Jason tries to fill his mind with his usual boner killer images, but it doesn’t help, especially as he keeps having to do it over and over again. 

Despite walking around half-cocked, the main reason why the Cheshire Cat doesn’t drive him up the wall is that he doesn’t feel a need to fill the silence with inane chatter. He simply walks along beside him, outwardly relaxed as can be, even if he does sneak sly smiles at Jason like he knows exactly what he’s thinking and trying to do. When their eyes do meet, Tim always winks and rakes his gaze downward before looking away. 

As they get closer to the edge of the garden, the landscape grows wilder and less tended. Nine-inch Jason would have been lost long ago in the high grasses they pass through. The day crawls along into late afternoon and Jason wonders what sleeping will feel like in this dreamland. Will he dream within a dream? 

“How much further?” he asks eventually, breaking the silence. 

“To the border? Not far. Perhaps a few more hours. The White Queen lives in her tower just outside the garden,” Tim replies, but he sounds distracted. His ears are swiveled forward, picking up something Jason can’t hear, and twitching slightly, along with his tail. 

“Something wrong?” Jason prods in a low tone. 

“Just coming up on the looney bin,” Tim states, frowning slightly. There’s a pinched look to his face that reminds Jason of a cat that’s been rubbed the wrong way. His brain helpfully provides examples of the _right_ way, but he squashes them down. Again. 

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” 

Tim-Cat gives him an odd look. “I don’t know what that means, but I hope you like tea. It sounds like the Hatter and the Hare are having one of their infamous tea parties.” 

Jason draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He’s curious to see who from his life are in the roles of the Mad Hatter and the March Hare. And the Dormouse. Blondie, Cass, and Tim are all here, so it makes sense for others to be too. At the same time, he doesn’t have time for this shit. He needs to wake up and go home. If there’s something he can do on this end to help combat whatever the Scarecrow got him with, he’ll do it. By his count, it’s been several hours since he landed here. If time is moving the same way here as it is back home, Tim has to be worried sick about him.  

“Can we bypass them?” he asks.  

“I can, but you can’t. The path goes right past their field.” 

At least Tim-Cat is honest.  

“Fuck it.” Jason keeps going, noting that the Cheshire Cat hangs back the closer they get to the faint calliope music he can make out now. It reminds him of a carnival. Does this mean Dick is the Hatter? Or is he the Hare? Shit, is he the Dormouse? 

Crap, he really doesn’t want to know what his subconscious is going to come up with this time. He can appreciate the leather clad Tim but what the hell is coming next?  

The path passes by a wide wooden gate cut through a low hedge. A small green field opens beyond it and at the center of the field under a large tree is a long table with a wide variety of teacups, saucers, teapots, and all the accompaniments for a proper tea. Sure, the chairs are all mismatched, so it doesn’t quite look right but this is supposed to be a mad tea party after all.  

Jason tells himself he won’t look, that he’s not going to stop and talk to the Mad Hatter and the March Hare and get sucked into whatever madness they throw his way. He’s a good height now and has no plans to shrink again. Or grow more. The White Queen’s tower isn’t too far now, and he can get there before dark if he just keeps going. 

But like all train wrecks, he can’t resist, and even as he tells himself not to do it, Jason glances over at the two figures seated at the table. He stops so abruptly that Tim-Cat crashes right into him.  

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.  

Jason blinks, staring in disbelief. That’s it. He’s officially gone nuts. May as well toss him back into Arkham because this has to be certifiable. He’ll walk in on his own. Any cell, just as long as it’s not next to the Joker because he _will_ kill that clown if he gets close enough. 

Alfred sits at the near end of the table, outwardly as normal as can be aside from the two rabbit ears sticking out from his head.  

And seated next to him, yammering on in an all too familiar voice that drives all Robins, former and present, batty with its complete and utter inanity is Brucie, dressed in a tuxedo and wearing a garishly large purple hat on his head. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to GoAwayOlivia for beta reading this piece of craziness!

Jason stares, utterly transfixed by the madness before him. He’s seen some fucked up shit in his life, but this is right near the top of that long list. When he wakes up, there is no way in hell he will ever be able to look Alfred in the eye again without imagining him with bunny ears. And Bruce…well, at least he has had plenty of exposure to the ridiculous things that Brucie has done for the sake of maintaining his cover.

He wants to go and sit at the table just for the experience and wonder as they ramble about un-birthdays and ravens and writing desks, but Jason is fairly certain the experience will break his already frail psyche.

Ripping his eyes away is one of the hardest things he has ever done, but Jason manages it and forces his feet to keep walking down the path, hoping the two men don’t notice him.

Too late.

“Well, hello there, stranger!” Brucie’s gratingly cheerful voice calls out to him. “Come on over and take a load off, don’t be shy!”

Jason wants the ground to open up and swallow him right now. “Fuck,” he mutters vehemently. This is the last thing he needs.

Tim-Cat, however, seems all too intrigued by his reaction. “You act like you know them.”

“That’s because I do. In a way. In another place.” A place where Alfred doesn’t have rabbit ears and he could possibly get away with punching Bruce in the face for pulling the Brucie act on him.

“Is this the same place your boyfriend who looks like me lives?” The Cheshire Cat asks all too knowingly.

“Yeah.”

Brucie comes rushing toward them, grinning brightly. This close, Jason can tell his tuxedo isn’t the typical black that it usually is, but a very dark shade of green. It clashes horribly with the oversized purple top hat perched precariously on his head. What scares him more the expression on Brucie’s face. Sure, the whole act is designed to keep people from drawing any connections between Bruce and Batman, but even then, people in the know are able to pick out the little tell-tale signs of a much smarter man behind the façade.

On this Bruce’s face, it is clear as day that there isn’t a lot going on behind that vapid expression on his face.

The Mad Hatter reaches over the gate to grab Jason’s hand and shake it wildly. “Nice to meet you, tiger! What’s your name?”

It takes all of Jason’s willpower to resist yanking that hand away. “Jason.”

“Welcome, Jason! Well come. Oh, would you lookie there! You’ve brought a friend! It’s been a while, Cheshire.”

Jason can feel Tim-Cat’s nails digging into his other arm even as he barely makes out his tail lashing in clear agitation. “Yes, it has,” Tim replies evenly. He then pointedly looks up at the sky. “Oh my, would you look at the time? We really must be going.”

“Time?” Brucie asks and withdraws a large pocket watch from the depths of his tuxedo jacket. “I have the time right here! It’s…It’s…” The Mad Hatter twists and turns the watch every which way, trying to puzzle out just what the spinning hands are trying to tell him.

If it weren’t so pathetic, Jason might just laugh himself sick. “I think your watch is broken.”

“I bet the March Hare can fix it for me. He’s wonderful with his hands.” Brucie tugs him through the gate and across the field, the Cheshire Cat trailing along after them.

Jason isn’t sure why the Cat is following since Tim can actually disappear and get out of this nightmare, but as long as he doesn’t eat or drink anything, Jason supposes he can deal with this for a few minutes.

“My watch is broken!” Brucie pronounces when they reach the table.

Alfred doesn’t say a word, but calmly takes the device to inspect it. “You didn’t feed it enough jam,” he says after a moment.

Jason’s stomach sinks. No. No, he’s not seeing this. But he _is_ and he can’t unsee it. He watches as Alfred, still appearing exactly the same save for the fluffy bunny ears sprouting from his head, opens the watch with an easy twist and spoons a dollop of strawberry jam onto the spinning gears. Closing it, he returns the watch to Brucie and calmly sips his tea.

Christ on a fucking crutch. Jason swallows as Brucie happily waves the watch around. “It is half past twelve,” he states, shoving the watch in Jason’s face so close that he nearly goes cross-eyed trying to read it.

“Sure,” Jason agrees warily. “Still means we got a long way to go, so the Cat and I should probably be going.” He glances over at Tim for some support but finds his traveling companion is sitting at the table with an empty tea cup in front of him, staring intently at a teapot that seems to be singing to itself.

Oh. Right. The Dormouse.

Jason grabs Tim by the scruff of his neck. “You’re not eating that.”

Tim pouts. “I need a snack.”

“Then go find something else. I don’t think the March Hare and the Mad Hatter would appreciate you eating one of their guests.”

“Indeed, we would not,” Alfred says and picks up the teapot in question. Opening the lid, he gazes down into it. “Do you want to be eaten?”

“No!” a tiny but somewhat familiar voice rings out. “But I would like a biscuit.” A small mouse comes flying out of the teapot and lands by Brucie, who is still happily swinging his watch on its long chain.

Holy fuck, it’s Clark. But not Clark, because this is a mouse who looks like Clark and is flying around wearing a little vest and a red cape that somehow looks like Clark and Jason really needs to stop fixating on the fact that the mouse looks like Clark because this is not Clark. It isn’t any of them.

What’s going to be next? Diana as the Duchess trying to feed a piglet pepper?

That’s it. Jason has officially lost it. Brain broken, he’s done for. He collapses weakly into the chair next to Tim and watches as the small flying mouse-man licks crumbs from his little plate.

Tim spares him a concerned look before his attention is once again captured by Clark, who has started singing in a high pitched little voice, much to the joy of the vigorously clapping Brucie.

 _Twinkle, twinkle little bat!_  
_How I wonder what you’re at!_  
_Up above the world you fly,_  
_Like a tea-tray in the sky._  
  
_Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle…_

At this point, the only thing Jason feels certain of is that he has taken complete leave of his senses. Whatever the Scarecrow dosed him with has fucked him up worse than reliving his worst fears and most dreaded nightmares. Hell, he would welcome one of his usual meltdowns at this point because at least those were familiar and Tim would be there to help him through it, waiting for him like a light at the end of the tunnel.

But Tim isn’t here. Not his Tim.

Jason can’t breathe. He shoves away from the table and charges across the field back to the gate and the path. Voices shout behind him, but he doesn’t care. He has to get away, needs space to breathe and collect his thoughts and, and, and…

He slams into someone, but rather than fall before him, strong hands grasp him by the shoulders, forcing him to stop. “Jason,” Tim is saying, repeating his name until Jason is finally able to focus on his face, his voice, his eyes. 

“Tim,” Jason says brokenly, chest heaving as he relearns how to breathe. “Tim.” 

“Hang in there, Jay. I’ve got you. You’re going to wake up soon, I know it. C’mon, Jay, please…” 

Jason closes his eyes against the sting of hot tears because the voice he hears is in his head. The voice belongs to his Tim, and not the one he rammed into, the one who still calls his name. He shudders, his body aching like he had just run one of Bruce’s sadistic training courses. 

“I’m okay,” he forces out. “I’m okay.” 

The Cheshire Cat doesn’t look convinced, but he does let go. “Are you mad too?” he asks cautiously.

Jason falls to his knees and starts laughing, not caring in the slightest that he’s riding the fine line that could cross into hysteria at any moment. “Cat, you have no fucking clue.” 

~*~*~ 

They keep walking, Tim-Cat eyeing him warily every now and again, the playful banter from before gone. Jason isn’t sure why the Cat hasn’t abandoned him entirely, but he’s quietly grateful for his presence, subdued as it is. It gives him time to wonder about his Tim. He would swear on a stack of bibles that he heard him earlier, whispering in his ear with his calm voice trying to bring him back to the present. 

What had happened on the outside? Jason is certain that at this point, he has to be hooked up to any number of machines that are monitoring his vital signs, probably even his brainwaves. Did they pick up on his episode? Is Tim curled up next to him even as he marches through this wonderland of his own mind? 

Fuck, if this was just a dream, then he could wake up on his own. No, there has to be something keeping him under like this, some compound Crane threw into his new fear formula to show the wildest of hallucinations. 

Jason would much prefer if he just saw flying fish, fuck you very much, like those koi from earlier. 

The path leads them to the top of a rise and Tim snags Jason’s jacket, stopping him. Wordlessly, he points towards the horizon. A massive hedge lies before them, thick and dark in the late afternoon light. 

“Is that the edge of the garden?” Jason asks, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the setting sun. 

“It is. The White Queen’s tower is on the other side."

“Great.” Jason turns to the Cheshire Cat and holds out his hand. “Thanks for playing tour guide. I appreciate your help.” 

Tim ignores him and saunters forward, glancing over his shoulder back at Jason. “You’re not rid of me yet, Jason,” he purrs. “Who do you think is going to get you in the tower for an audience?” The playful kitty from earlier seems to have made a return. 

Jason runs his hand through his hair, trying to figure out the Cat’s game. He has one, there’s no doubt about that. His subconscious wouldn’t have made him Tim if he didn’t have something up that tight sleeve. It’s not as though he has much of a choice, so he follows and tries hard not to look at the cute ass and the tail that periodically lashes from side to side. 

The garden path leads directly to the hedge without any extra twists or turns. As they get closer, the hedge looms larger than Jason first believed. Tall and thick, the greenery easily topped his own height by several feet. 

They’re almost to the opening when two small figures step out to block the way, both armed with wooden swords and little round shields. 

Jason has to bite his lip to stop the laugh that comes roaring up from his gut. If Alfred and Bruce had almost broken him earlier, then this has to be his psyche’s way of saying sorry. The two boys, standing equally in height, one scowling ferociously and the other grinning cheerfully, are Damian and Dick. And if Jason remembers the story right, they have to be Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

His only question is who’s who? 

Tim-Cat gives him a curious look as they approach, clearly having picked up on Jason’s amusement. 

Little Damian scowls even more fiercely at the sight of them. “The Cheshire Cat. For what reason are you trying to leave the garden?”

Dick laughs and Jason wants to gape because he’s only ever heard it that high on old videos. “Like he needs a reason? He can pass through without anyone even knowing.”

“Yes, but he’s here now and he’s got company. No good company from the looks of it.” Damian shoots Jason a suspicious glare. 

Jason gives the kid an innocent smile and waves, trying to look harmless. It never works with the brat, but one of these days it’s bound to happen. It’s kind of hilarious because out of everyone in his family, he’s the best around kids.

Tim smirks, flashing a hint of fang, a sure sign he’s about to deliver a verbal beat down as it is so incredibly similar to his Tim’s expression. “We’re simply passing through to seek an audience with the White Queen.”

“It’s almost dark, you know she doesn’t allow visitors after the sun goes down,” Damian protests. 

Dick nods in agreement. “We’re supposed to close the gate at sunset.”

“The sun is still in the sky,” Jason points out. “Barely.”

“So it is, but you’re a stranger and we don’t let strangers out of the garden. You could be from the Red Queen.” Damian’s little face puckers at the thought. “She’s released the Bandersnatch.”

“And the Jubjub bird,” Dick adds helpfully, fingering the slingshot tucked in the belt of his pants. “We’ve got to be careful.”

“Right, because clearly you Tweedles are the best line of defense the White Queen has against an attack.” Tim has to be goading them. If they’re anything like his brothers, then Damian at the very least will want to prove himself. 

“We are mighty warriors!” Damian cries out and waves his little wooden sword. 

Called it.

“Yeah!” Dick agrees. “Just you watch! We can fight off anything!” 

Jason can’t help himself. Okay, he can, but he doesn’t want to pass up the opportunity. “Who’s the better warrior?”

Dick and Damian look at him then at each other. “I am!” they chorus. 

The Cheshire Cat picks up on Jason’s plan. “That can’t be right. One of you has to be better than the other,” he says, egging them on. 

“I’m the best with a sword!” Damian shouts. 

“No, I am!” Dick disagrees loudly. 

“You are not! You use that slingshot more often.”

“I’m older than you, so I’m better!”

“What kind of logic is that? And you’re not older, I am!”

And there’s the circular argument Jason remembers from the story. This could go on all night. “Sounds to me like you need to have a little battle to determine the best,” he says oh so reasonably. This why he will never be called a responsible adult. 

“You should,” Tim agrees. “There’s plenty of space over here.” 

The boys take the bait and rush forward, shrill war cries erupting from their throats even as two wooden swords bash against the little shields. Jason watches, completely bemused and still curious over who is who. 

Tim grabs him by the arm and hauls him through the narrow tunnel in the great hedge. “Quickly now, before they realize they’ve been tricked.”

“I doubt they’ll even notice if we light the hedge on fire.” 

“Fair enough,” Tim-Cat replies with a laugh. The familiarity of it hurts Jason more than he expects. “The Tweedles aren’t the brightest members of the White Queen’s court.” 

“No kidding.” Jason takes a look around at the world outside the garden and frowns at how colorless and bleak it appears. It could be the setting sun but for the first time, this world appears more like the live action movie. “Still, I’d love to know which one is Tweedle Dee and which one is Tweedle Dum.”

Tim shrugs, effortless and easy as his namesake. “I doubt even they know at this point.” 

~*~*~

The White Queen lives in a clocktower. Jason snickers to himself as Tim-Cat leads the way. It’s kind of funny, but he also feels somewhat relieved. If Babs is the White Queen, then he has faith that she’ll be able to help him. Then again, he’d have said the same of Alfred and look what happened there.

His brain conjures up images of Barbara grinning like the Joker and spinning around wielding a large mallet like Harley. Nope, not going there. He shoves those thoughts aside and slams the door shut, wishing he had a key to keep them locked away.

“Anything I need to know in advance about the White Queen?” he asks, trying to distract himself.

“Not really,” Tim replies. “She’s pretty informal, but she’s still a queen, so be polite.”

Jason can do that. Really. Despite Damian’s protests, he can actually be quite cultured and genteel when the need arises even if half the things he says are overly subtle barbs making fun of whomever he’s being forced to speak with. Tim loves running comms for him on those missions and has said more than once that he makes a bag of popcorn so he can sit back and enjoy the show.

The clocktower looms large as they approach and the Cheshire Cat knocks on the main door with a quick rap of his knuckles. “Hello, your Majesty! I’ve brought a visitor. He’s not as mad as he looks.”

Apparently there are different standards of politeness here. Jason bites back a remark as the door opens on silent hinges. He’s sticking with what he knows until proven otherwise.

The interior of the tower screams of Babs. All sleek and sharp lines, subtle lighting, and easy to maneuver around. No long ass hallways with portraits of dead people glaring down at those who pass by.

Tim-Cat leads them to an actual elevator and presses a button. He chuckles at Jason’s raised eyebrow. “Yes, I could teleport up to the top, but her Majesty doesn’t like it when I appear out of nowhere unless it’s extremely urgent.”

Jason can’t help but think Tim would be a great spy in this world.

The elevator is blessedly silent and when the doors slide open, they step out into what is clearly an audience chamber. At the far side of the spacious room, which is just as modern and well-lit as the lower level, is Barbara. Jason is monumentally relieved to see that she’s not wearing anything fancy, but is just standing there in a pair of slacks and a lightweight sweater. It takes a moment for it to sink in that she’s _standing_. On her own two feet.

He wants to sink down to his knees and cry, perhaps even thank his subconscious for coming up with this because out of everyone he knows, he can’t think of a stronger person than Barbara Gordon. But he pushes these feelings aside because he knows this isn’t his Babs. This isn’t the wheelchair bound woman who has no compunctions against smacking his stubborn head with an escrima stick when he’s being an ass.

This is a queen.

Jason approaches with Tim-Cat and takes his cue from him over when to bow. He does so deeply, elegantly, but with just enough flair that he can easily imagine Alfred rolling his eyes at him.

“So this is the man who helped you annoy the Tweedles, Cheshire,” the White Queen says smoothly.

Tim rises and grins cheekily. “They’re just so easy to rile up.”

“I know, but I’ve told you before not to instigate things between them.”

“If I may, your Majesty,” Jason tries to politely interrupt and doesn’t even flinch when Babs’ level glare lands on him. “That was partially my fault. I know a version of the little demon back home and he’s a brat at the best of times.”

“Which one?” the queen asks.

“Huh?”

“Which Tweedle is the demon of your world?”

Jason thinks back to the two boys and chuckles. “The one with the permanent scowl. The one who grins all the time is technically my older brother.”

Babs gazes at him curiously, picking him apart and trying to get to the layers underneath. It would be disconcerting if he wasn’t used to her doing the same thing to him back in the waking world. “I understand from Cheshire that you are trying to return home,” she says eventually.

When did Tim-Cat tell her that? Jason remembers when he vanished for a time not long after they met. He glances over at the Cat, who just smiles innocently back at him. Well, forewarned is forearmed and all that jazz. “Yeah, I am. The Caterpillar and the Cat here both said you’d be able to help me.”

“I can, but my assistance will come at a cost.”

Big surprise there. But Jason has always lived in a world where you don’t get something for nothing. “What’s your price, your Majesty?”

“My sister, the Red Queen, has stolen the vorpal sword. I want you to go to her palace and get it back for me.”

Of fucking course.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was torn over a plot point here, but once I figured it out, the rest of the chapter came quickly! Thank you to Nykyrianne for beta reading!

Considering how late in the day it is when they arrive at the White Queen’s palace, Barbara invites Jason to stay the night and get some rest before he leaves the next morning. As he gets ready for bed in his small guest room, he wonders how sleep even works in this place, what with it being a hallucination and all. Does it mean he’s resting in the real world and the passage of time as he experiences it here is the same out there? Or will it be some kind of blink and you miss it kind of thing where he just lays down and then ‘wakes’ back up?

Fuck if he knows. 

For a hallucination, the shower still feels good, the water pressure just like he prefers, and the bed’s cool, crisp sheets feel like heaven when he lays down. Jason smiles into the pillow. It’s just like his bed at home, minus Tim taking up half of it. 

Tim. Man, he’s gotta be going nuts by now. This is the longest any of them have been under from one of Crane’s formulas. Jason clutches one of the pillows close against his chest and quietly prays that when he wakes up, _this_ will all have been nothing more than a bad dream.

“G’night, Tim,” he murmurs as sleep overtakes him. 

He swears he heard Tim’s voice distantly say the same…

~*~*~

Tim yawns widely and rubs at his eyes. He and exhaustion aren’t strangers, but this is the first time something like this has happened since he and Jason made things official between them. It’s been almost ten hours now since Jason was exposed to whatever concoction the Scarecrow cooked up and he still hasn’t awakened. At least the thrashing and wildly elevated heartrate from earlier has stopped. Whatever Jason is dreaming, that particular part of it must have been bad.

“How’s he doing?” Dicks asks quietly, entering the infirmary dressed in his pajamas and an old terrycloth robe that has seen better days.

“He just muttered good night to me,” Tim replies with a shake of his head. “I don’t get it, Dick. I just don’t understand what Crane was working on. It’s like sleep paralysis meets a waking dream. Jason’s brainwaves have been off the charts until now. He just started sinking into a non-REM cycle.”

“That means he’s sleeping for real, right? Not dreaming anymore?” Dick takes a seat next to Tim and takes the tablet he’s been using to monitor Jason with. It’s a sign of how tired he is that he doesn’t fight it.

On the bed in front of them, Jason is strapped down and hooked up to a number of different machines. The simple IV pole with a saline bag to keep him hydrated looks positively archaic by comparison to the technology around them.

If it were anyone else on this table, Tim knows he’d be fascinated by how long they were able to maintain such a deep REM sleep. But he can’t muster that typical interest, not with Jason laying there. “Well, considering that talking in his sleep isn’t a normal thing for him at all, I’m not sure what to think. I want to believe this is a positive change, but…”

Dick nods and hands the tablet back, draping an arm over Tim’s shoulders to hug him. “He started off this way too. Non-REM to a deep REM.”

“At least he’s not fighting us anymore,” Bruce adds as he joins them, coffee in hand and looking as worn-out as Tim feels. He has spent all night at the computer and in the lab trying to isolate the compounds they found in Jason’s blood to synthesize an antidote.  “I think we can take the straps off.”

“You make that call to J’onn yet?” Dick asks, pressing a hand to Tim’s back to keep him in his chair while he stands to start removing the leather straps keeping Jason’s broad body down.

“I did,” Bruce says, frowning more than usual. “He should be here in a few hours, but if Jason’s no longer in REM, then I don’t know what good it will do.”

They all know how it always galls Bruce when he has to call others for help, but if he hadn’t done it, then Tim is perfectly prepared to call M’gann. This is _Jason_ and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to bring him back from the dreamland he seems to be trapped in.

“He’s still the best telepath in the known universe,” Tim counters, biting back another yawn. “I just hope Jason forgives us for bringing him in.”

Dick rests a hand on his sleeping brother’s forehead. “None of us like it, but I don’t see what other choice we have. It’s not like he’s probing memories either. Just the dream.”

“That’s the only reason I think we’ll get away with minor gunshot wounds,” Tim tries to joke but it falls flat.

Bruce sits down in the chair next to Tim. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” he says quietly. “Dick and I will watch him and call you when there’s a change or when J’onn arrives.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Dick replies, putting the straps away in the storage bin they tucked under the gurney earlier. “Bruce, you’re running on fumes just like Tim. There’s nothing anyone can do right now except wait. I slept, so you two go pass out somewhere.”

They both open their mouths to protest, but Damian appears, dressed in his workout clothes. “I agree with Richard,” the teen announces. “You need sleep, Father and you, Timothy, are more useless than usual when you’re in this sort of state.”

Tim frowns even as Dick chuckles. “Thanks for backing me up, Damian.”

“I really don’t think…” Tim protests, but Bruce lays a heavy hand on Tim’s shoulder, stalling him.

“I’ll go to bed if you do too, Tim.”

He wants to state he can sleep just fine right here in the empty gurney next to Jason, but Tim knows he’s outnumbered. “Fine,” he grumbles and rises from the chair, his back popping audibly as he stretches. “But I’m bringing this with me.” He waves the tablet slightly.

“I wasn’t even going to try taking that away from you.” Bruce tries to tug him toward the stairs, but Tim slips out of his grip and leans over Jason to press a gentle kiss into the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t even twitch.

Tim sighs and tells himself that the stinging in his eyes is from sleep deprivation rather than tears he refuses to shed. “Good night, Jason. Please, wake up soon. Don’t make me have to come in there and get you.”

~*~*~

The following morning, Jason wakes slowly, luxuriating in the fact that no alarm is going off, that it’s just him and his circadian rhythm telling him it’s time to rise and shine. This is such a rarity as usually Tim has two alarms blaring at a given time to wake him up even though it’s usually Jason’s foot kicking him out of bed that finally gets him going. 

He spoons up against the ball of warmth curled up at his side. A morning like this calls for some celebration. Tim purrs as his arms wrap around him. 

“Morning, babe,” Jason whispers into Tim’s silky smooth hair. “I had the strangest dream last night.” 

“Oh?” Tim replies, holding his arms close to his body. Someone apparently decided to sleep without a shirt on last night and Jason enjoys the sensation of bare skin pressed against his own. 

“Yeah. I was starring in my own little adventure in Wonderland. You were there too, dressed up in a sexy little cat suit like Selina’s.” Jason runs a hand over Tim’s side, tracing the skin over his hip and onto the outside of his thigh. It’s rare that Tim sleeps without at least a pair of boxers on and he can’t help but continue the feather light touches wherever his hand can reach. 

“Was I?” Tim replies with a yawn. Soft ears twitch against Jason’s cheek. 

“Yeah, you looked really...” Jason trails off, paralysis seizing his body as his brain finally catches up with everything. 

Furry ears. 

No. 

_Nonononononono..._

Jason opens his eyes reluctantly, already dreading what he’s about to find. 

He’s still in the plain and simple guestroom he fell asleep in last night. Faint morning sunlight trickles in through the pale curtains, illuminating the room with a soft light. It’s enough to see Tim-Cat lying beside him, having abandoned his leather suit somewhere in the process. 

“Shit.” Jason tries to pull away, but the Cheshire Cat doesn’t let go. 

“Stop overthinking it,” Tim says quietly. “If this is a dream, does it really mean anything after you wake up?” 

Jason wants to scream in frustration. “That’s just it. None of this feels like a dream. Everything that’s happened since the warehouse right up until this moment feels just as real as anything else I’ve ever done in my life.” 

The Cat sighs and shifts around until he’s looking Jason right in the eye. This close, there’s no mistaking the slits in his pupils even if the blue around them is identical to Tim’s. “You’re not the only one torn about this. About everything. I lost my White Knight to the Red Queen, to the Jabberwocky, two years ago. It’s his sword that the White Queen has tasked you with recovering.”

The sadness in Tim’s voice, his eyes, makes Jason release some of the tension thrumming through him. He has a sneaking suspicion he knows the answer to the question he’s about to ask. “Did he look like me?” 

“You could be twins.”

Ouch. Well, that answers one question. Two actually, even though Jason didn’t realize he’d been wondering if a version of him is wandering around this place until now. It does explain why the Cheshire Cat has been so fascinated by him, even if his presence and constant rejection does nothing but cause him pain. This...he’s not the only one suffering here. Jason sighs to himself and makes a decision. He sincerely doubts his Tim will blow up at him over this. 

Hell, he’d probably do the same. 

He traces the sharp line of Tim’s jaw. “I’m sorry.” 

Tim turns his head to lightly kiss the palm of Jason’s hand. “Well, now you know. Can you really blame me for wanting to satisfy my curiosity?” 

“Nope. I can’t. And... I don’t think Tim would be mad me for doing this.” 

“For doing what?” 

“This.” Jason closes the distance between them and kisses him, a bare brush of his lips, giving the Cat a chance to back away, but Tim’s lips firm beneath his and press back, a low purr of pleasure rumbling in his throat. 

Strong arms snake up and around Jason’s neck, hauling him closer. “You’ll have to tell me if you want to stop. I— I don’t think I’ll be able to unless you say no,” Tim-Cat stutters out, his tail sneaking up Jason’s thigh to wrap snuggly around it. 

“Don’t stop,” Jason replies, finally letting himself stroke the soft fur. He grins against Tim’s mouth as the Cat’s purr turns into a growl. 

Someone likes to be petted and he's more than happy to oblige.

~*~*~

A few hours later, a freshly showered Jason shrugs on his heavy leather jacket, while trying to keep half of a muffin from falling out of his mouth. His ability to multitask seems to have gone out the window as his eyes are still glued to the bare figure lounging on his bed. The tip of Tim’s tail twitches back and forth over the rumpled sheets. 

“Feeling okay there, Cat?” Jason tries not to wince at the pain in his shoulders. Tim’s claws are sharp little fuckers. 

The Cheshire Cat rolls over and grins, his head hanging off the edge of the bed. “Never better.” He stretches languidly and laughs as the muffin falls from Jason’s mouth. 

“You’re incorrigible,” he says as he bends over to retrieve it. Ten second rule and all that jazz.

“Big words for someone who was just screaming my name,” Tim-Cat says with a laugh. “I’m surprised you’re able to stand.”

Stand, yes. Walking is still another matter as there are claw marks on Jason’s hips and thighs too. He’ll be damned if he admits this to the all-too-pleased cat. They’d been more than a little over eager earlier, fact Jason can’t help but feel pleased about. He idly wonders how that all appeared back home. His brainwaves must have been off the charts and he kind of hopes his body didn’t react to the physical stimulus too. 

“I’ve had to deal with worse,” Jason replies. “Not that Tim and I aren’t careful, but sometimes we can get carried away.”

“You have more scars than my Knight,” Tim-Cat comments. “Your life is far from safe.” 

“Understatement of a lifetime,” Jason says, popping the last of the muffin into his mouth. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go.” 

Tim pouts prettily. “I suppose that means I have to get dressed then.” 

“Huh?” 

“You didn’t think I was going to let you do this alone, did you?” The Cheshire Cat rises from the bed and plants a sharp nail against the center of the bat emblazoned on Jason’s armored chest. “My Knight would be sorely disappointed in me if I let his doppelgänger come to harm while attempting to retrieve his sword.” 

There’s clearly something else going on in Tim-Cat’s eyes, some emotion stirring within that drives him. Jason gets it. He’d feel the same way if it were his Tim. Shit, who is he trying to kid? This is a feeling he knows all too well. It drove him for a long time before he pulled his head out of his ass. 

Revenge. 

“Misery loves company,” is what he says instead. It’s not up to him if the Cheshire Cat wants to throw his life away. Besides, if anyone is going to come out of this with their hide intact, it’ll be him. That vanishing trick of his must come in handy. 

~*~*~

Jason can’t help but groan exaggeratedly when he learns how far the Red Queen’s castle is from the White Queen’s tower. “You mean I have to walk all the way back across that goddamned garden? I can’t believe I was practically on her fucking doorstep yesterday.” 

The White Queen shrugs, clearly unconcerned by his complaints, while Tim-Cat quietly snickers. “How does the saying go? The joy is in the journey?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason grumbles as he accepts the map from the Barbara lookalike. “Any tips for safe things to eat?” 

She winks at him. “Avoid mushrooms.” 

Jason resists the urge to flip her off. “Right. Noted. Well, thanks for everything. I’ll be back soon with the sword.” 

“I look forward to it,” the White Queen replies. “Safe travels.”

They exit the tower and head back toward the large hedge and the gate leading into the garden. Jason remembers the Tweedles from last evening. “Who do you think won that fight?” 

Tim-Cat yawns and stretches, the zipper of his catsuit catching Jason’s eye once again. He rips his gaze away because now he knows what hides beneath. 

“Does it really matter?” the Cat replies. 

“Probably not to you, but those two look exactly like my brothers. The younger is extremely competitive, and I’d bet he would be very curious to see how he stacks up against a younger version of our older brother.” Jason is rather proud of the fact he can call Dickie his brother now without wanting to make a gagging sound. It’s called  _progress_. 

“Sounds more like you just want to watch them argue.”

Jason shrugs and doesn’t deny it. 

The gate is unguarded as they pass through it. Tim-Cat frowns and looks around. “This is strange.”

“I take it they’re usually here by now?” 

“For all that they’re little idiots, the Tweedles guard the gate from dawn to dusk,” the Cheshire Cat explains. “They should be here, or at least one of them ought to be.”

“We didn’t make a mistake last night, riling them up?” Jason stops and looks in the direction the Dick and Damian mini-me’s ran off in the night before. There’s nothing out of the place that he can spot, but he doesn’t know the garden and the rules here the way his traveling companion does. 

Tim-Cat waves aside his question. “I do that all the time. You’d think they would learn by now. Still...,” he disappears and returns about twenty seconds later, frowning harder. “Their cottage is empty, and the hearth is still warm from their fire.”

“Well, shit.” As much as Jason doesn’t want to get involved, he can’t leave this be. “What’s the plan? We split up to look for them?” 

“No, we stick together. If something is capable of taking out both Tweedles without alerting the night guard, then there’s a problem.” It’s on the tip of Jason’s tongue to ask who the night guard is, but Tim-Cat continues. “The gryphon may be a bit lazy, but nothing gets past him.”

This sounds rather different from what Jason remembers in the book but what does he know? He’s the one hallucinating. Still, he remembers something from the movies and Cass mentioned it yesterday too. “Is the Jub-Jub bird strong enough to carry them?” 

Now it was Tim’s turn to swear. “Come on, let’s go.” He picks a direction seemingly at random and leads Jason into the garden. 

Ornamental bushes line the path and stately oak trees block the mid-morning sun rising overhead, creating a peaceful and idyllic atmosphere that belies the tension they feel over the missing Tweedles. If it weren’t for the grim expression on the Cheshire Cat’s face, Jason would almost believe they were simply heading for the Red Queen’s castle. 

“Are you going to check with the gryphon about the boys?” Jason asks after a few minutes. “Do they even see each other when they change guard?”

Tim-Cat stops short and growls. “Sex apparently has made me stupid. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

He vanishes in the blink of an eye. 

“That isn’t creepy, not at all,” Jason comments to himself. He doesn’t take Tim’s abrupt exit or his words personally. 

Everyone processes their shit in different ways and the fact that the Cat just spent the morning in bed with his dead lover’s lookalike has to be messing with his head. Whatever, that was a one-time thing because he fully intends to have that sword in his hands by tomorrow night. Whatever has happened to the Tweedles is concerning but they’re not his problem. 

He just has to keep reminding himself of this.

Jason doesn’t want to wait, so he keeps going down the path. It winds around, goes up and down a couple small hills. There’s even a burbling brook he has to cross at the bottom of one that is easy enough to jump over. Everything is calm and peaceful. 

Until it’s not. 

He’s about to step into a sunny field full of colorful poppies (and doesn’t that just scream _Wizard of Oz_?) when he hears a ululating scream from overhead and the high pitched cry of a young boy. 

Looking up, Jason spots one of the ugliest birds he’s ever seen, huge and bald and oddly vulture-like despite the sickly white feathers and ragged wings. It screeches again and lurches low, brushing the treetops. It has to be the Jubjub bird.

That’s when Jason sees what it’s carrying. Trapped in its claws is one of the Tweedles, struggling valiantly to free himself. 

He doesn’t even hesitate. Rushing out into the field, Jason grabs a gun from the holster strapped around his thigh and takes aim. 

Gunshots ring out. One. Two. 

Bird and boy fall toward the earth.


	5. Chapter 5

Jason races forward, his heavy boots ripping up flowers as he tries to get beneath the falling bird to grab hold of the Tweedle. Is it Dick or Damian? He’s not sure and it really doesn’t matter because they’re both his annoying as hell brothers. Brothers he’d now take a bullet for instead of using as his personal shooting gallery. 

Okay, so perhaps he didn’t think this one through very well, he thinks as he dives to catch the Tweedle that has fallen loose from the clutches of the now very dead Jubjub bird. Jason grabs hold of the boy, tucks him against his chest, and rolls. His shoulder hits the earth hard, but the ground is surprisingly soft compared to other things he’s landed on. 

“Ow.” 

The Tweedle in his arms moans and Jason releases him enough to see that he’s rescued a tiny Damian. Blood streams down the boy’s face from a gash in his scalp. He sits up, careful not to jar him. “Hey there, kiddo. Take it easy, I got you.” 

Damian lurches forward, his small, angry face white as a sheet and vomits. 

Jason starts checking him over when he’s done. There’s a good sized knot on his head and his eyes aren’t quite focusing correctly. The cut is shallow and still oozing, but it seems to be slowing down. Other than some scratches and what’s no doubt going to be a spectacular bruise on his ribs, Damian appears to be fine. Well, concussed, but fine. 

Looking around, Jason spots the corpse of the massive bird, it’s dingy feathers out of place in such a vibrant field of color. Tempting as it is to give it a good kick, he’s got other concerns right now. 

“Alright, little demon. We’re going to get you washed up and then maybe the Cheshire Cat will finally get his ass back here to take you to the Tower.” The Cat has been gone for a while now, so he hopes the gryphon had something useful to say. 

The kid doesn’t do more than bat weakly at Jason as he picks him up and makes his way back to that little brook he crossed earlier. The picturesque setting is definitely marred by the bleeding boy and Jason does his best to clean him up and hold a cold compress that he’d made from Damian’s torn shirt to his head. Of all the things to not be carrying on him right now, it has to be bandages. 

Jason feels the slight displacement of air that heralds Tim-Cat’s return. 

“I swear, that creature has nothing but air between his ears,” he says, then stops short. “What happened?” Tim rushes forward and kneels next to Tweedle Damian. 

“I saved him from some ugly ass bird. He’s concussed,” Jason replies. “I think that’s the worst of his injuries, but he hasn’t spoken yet.” 

“Ugly bird…” Tim-Cat’s eyes widen in surprise. “Grayish feathers, large, and with a ferocious beak?” 

“Not sure about the beak because I kinda shot it in the face, but the rest sounds right.”  

“Shot?” 

Damian finally speaks, a note of awe tinging his piping voice. “There was a loud bang and the Jubjub bird fell from the sky." 

Jason assumes firearms are not a thing around here and gestures to the guns strapped to his thighs. “I shot it with one of these.” 

Both of their faces show how much that doesn’t make sense to them. 

Jason tries again, remembering that he’s technically in a Victorian era children’s story, even if his version has gone decidedly X-rated. “A type of flintlock?” 

Comprehension dawns on Tim’s face. “I’ve never seen one so compact before.”

“Yeah, well...different world, different firepower.” Jason pulls the compress away from Damian’s head to check the bleeding. It’s still seeping, but much slower than before. “How you feeling there, Little D? You’ve got a large knot on your head.” 

The Tweedle is still pale and a little green around the edges. “I have been better,” he says slowly. 

“I bet,” Jason replies. “How’s the vision? Seeing in twos or threes?” He’s been concussed more times than he cares to remember.  

Unfocused blue eyes gaze back at him and Jason knows the answer before Damian even speaks. “There are two of you. Sometimes three.” He sounds odd too, almost as though he were drunk. 

The kid needs help. 

“Hey, Cat. What passes for medical care around here? A doctor?”

Tim-Cat kneels on the other side of Damian and peers into his eyes, assessing him. “The White Queen can help him.” 

Why is he not surprised? Babs can literally do anything as far as Jason is concerned. “Okay. Well, how about you point me in the right direction for the Red Queen’s castle and you take the munchkin to the Tower? It’s not that I don’t care and all, but the sooner I can get the sword, the better. Maybe even find the other Tweedle while I’m at it.” 

The Cat scowls at him. “And what am I? Chopped liver? I can be at the castle in an instant if I wanted to.” 

“And yet, there’s clearly a reason you’re not,” Jason counters. Apparently their little honeymoon period is over. “I’m just sayin’, we’re wasting time. Unless you can teleport more than just yourself?” 

“No,” Tim-Cat admits, his dark look deepening further. “Maybe a Tweedle, but not someone of your size.” 

“Then there ya go,” Jason stands, picking up Damian as he does. “Take him and send me on my way. I’m sure you can find me in no time.” 

The little boy struggles weakly, but there is no escaping the firm hold Jason has him. “No. Must find Dum. The Jubjub bird took him first.” 

Jason is willing to put money on Tweedle Dick saying Damian is Tweedle Dum. He’ll ask later when they find him. “Don’t worry about him, kiddo. We’ll get him back.”

Damian protests wordlessly as Tim takes him into his arms. 

“Keep going down this path and through the poppy field. The trail branches at the start of the woods. Go to your right. I’ll catch up with you soon.” The Cat adjusts the boy carefully, handling his head as though he would a newborn. “Be careful.” 

Jason grins cockily. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.” 

“I didn’t think so.”

~*~*~

Time is of the essence, but Jason still takes a few minutes to check out the corpse of the Jubjub bird, hoping for some sort of clue to indicate where Tweedle Dick has been taken. It’s safe to assume the boy’s been taken to the Red Queen, but there’s a saying about making assumptions and while Jason is most definitely an asshole, he’s not the other kind.

Okay, sometimes he doesn’t look before he leaps. Not as often as Dickie does.

In this case, Jason kind of wishes he had because as he holds up the grotesquely clawed feet, the blood he sees is enough to churn his stomach. Damian had a headwound, but otherwise, the rest of his body was mostly intact. Dick, however… Jason lets out a slow breath. Wherever the boy is, he’s injured.

Badly.

Jason takes off across the field and hangs a right down the path like Tim-Cat told him to. He can keep up a fairly steady pace for quite a while when he has to and right now, he needs to. Telling himself this is all a dream and that when he wakes up, everything will be alright is a bunch of lies. Yeah, sure, this is a dream, but it’s _his_ dream and he knows all too well what kind of kooky shit his head can come up with.

Case in point, right here.

So he runs and the wooded path disappears under his feet. He covers more ground than the Cheshire Cat probably expects him to because he comes up short when the trail ends, opening up into a grassy lawn. Several yards away is a cottage, small and quaint and pretty much exactly what his brain thinks of when he hears the phrase _cottage in the English countryside_. There’s an air of neglect to the house, as though the occupant hasn’t been around for quite some time.

This and the distinct lack of pots and pans clanging around, as well as a crying baby leads him to believe this home does not belong to the Duchess from the story. Jason breathes a quiet sigh of relief because the thought of Diana as the Duchess is simply horrifying. Or Donna for that matter.

A well sits off to the side, framed in stone and with one of those wooden cranks to draw a bucket back up. Jason could go for a drink of water, thirsty as he is after his run. Hungry too, but there is no way in hell he’s eating anything out here, even if the White Queen told him to avoid mushrooms.

It’s a risk, but he still has fragments of those mushrooms from yesterday in his pockets if the shit hits the fan (or his head does), so he approaches the house cautiously. He knocks on the stout wooden door and waits a minute before doing it again.

“There’s nobody home,” Tim-Cat says flatly from behind him.

Jason doesn’t react to his silent arrival. “Never hurts to check.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because this is the path you put me on.” Jason brushes past the Cat to head to the well. Food he can do without. Water, not so much.

“I didn’t think you’d make it this far.”

Something is bothering him, that’s clear enough. “How’s the Tweedle?” Jason asks. It’s a good guess.

“He vomited all over me when we arrived at the Tower.” The disgust is clear and Jason glances back and notices that Tim-Cat is combing through the damp fur of his tail with his fingers.

“If it’s any consolation, my little demon brother did the same to me once. He was concussed and had a stomach bug that he hadn’t told anyone about before he left for patrol that night.” It had been gross and kind of sad at the same time.

“That helps.”

Tim-Cat watches as Jason inspects the rope attached to the bucket. It’s relatively new, so he tosses it all down into the well and sloshes the bucket around, then hauls it back up. The whole time, the Cat doesn’t say a word.

“I get the distinct impression you don’t want me here, wherever _here_ is,” Jason says after his thirst is satisfied and nothing happens to his current height.

“This was _his_ house,” Tim-Cat replies neutrally. “My Knight’s.”

“Oh.” This explains the earlier comment about how far he’d made it. “I take it I missed a turn somewhere?”

The Cat nods slowly. “More of a detour, but it’s okay. There is no way you would have known.”

“It looks like you come here sometimes,” Jason offers, setting the bucket aside. “Try to take care of things.”

“I refuse to let the garden take back his house,” the Cheshire Cat replies with a bit of heat. “But he was the one who loved to grow things and brought some semblance of order to the wildness. The mome raths were particularly fond of him and since his death, I haven’t seen a single one.”

Jason isn’t sure if the mome raths are the cartoon version or the pig, or hell, even the type of turtle from Carroll’s notes. To be honest, he doesn’t really want to know, but the Cat is clearly upset by this little fact he dropped, so he sucks it up and hugs him, draping an arm over his leather-clad shoulders. “It sounds like your Knight was a real stand-up kind of guy.”

Tim-Cat sighs and nods. “He was. Unlike you. You’re kind of an ass.”

“Takes one to know one.”

~*~*~

Morning turns into afternoon, which turns into early evening by the time Jason and the Cheshire Cat reach the far end of the garden. This side is particularly tangled and wild, with very little semblance of order or care to be seen. Even the path is overgrown, as though it rarely sees traffic of any kind. Overhead, dark storm clouds start to build while the wind picks up, rustling branches and leaves.

It’s all ominous and Jason can’t help but wonder what exactly is waiting for him up ahead.

Tim-Cat holds up a hand and he stops short.

“What is it?”

“Just a couple of more turns and we’ll be at the other end of the hedge that surrounds the garden,” the Cat explains. “There is a gate here too that is always guarded.”

Jason sighs and leans against a gnarled tree, crossing his arms over his chest as he does. Up in the branches, a dark green lizard with ruby red eyes blinks sleepily down at him for disturbing his slumber. The damn thing is practically an iguana and try as he might, nothing rings a bell from the books for what it could possibly be. Whatever, it’s time for him and Tim-Cat to finally make some goddamned battle plans.

“Okay. Who or what are we up against?”

“It varies, depending on the Red Queen’s mood. She’s rather…mercurial.”

“Most women are, in my experience. Why don’t you go take a quick peek and let me know how much ammo I need to waste on whatever she feels like today?” Jason checks his holsters again and while there isn’t enough to go storming a castle, there’s more than enough for a couple of well-placed headshots. He grimaces silently at the thought and tries to remind himself that all of this is just a dream. None of it is real and the only thing he’s killed here is a stinking bird that regularly terrorizes the natives. It’s not as though he’s offed a person.

He glances up and notices Tim-Cat hasn’t moved. “Something rub your tail the wrong way, pussycat?”

The Cat glares at him. “You’re entirely too calm about this. For all you know, it’s the Bandersnatch waiting for us.”

Jason stands up straight and glares. All he wants to do right now is find Dick and go home. “I deal with strange shit day in, day out. If you don’t want to get your sneak on, then I can.”

He shoves away from the tree and leaves the slumbering lizard behind.

Tim-Cat catches him as he passes by and wraps a clawed hand around his arm, his nails catching in the leather sleeve, but not quite tearing it. “Will you just stop and listen to me for a moment?”

“What’s there to say?” Jason snaps. “I know how to gather my own intel, fuck you very much.”

“I can’t teleport this close to the Red Queen’s castle,” the Cheshire Cat says. “She can sense it, just as the White Queen does.”

Oh. That changes things. “You could have said something sooner.”

“I tried, but you decided to be thickheaded.”

Jason grimaces again and runs a hand through his hair. This is all true and he can’t deny it, tempting as it is. “Sorry. It’s just… I really want to go home, you know? And we’re so close now.”

Tim-Cat frowns but doesn’t loosen his grip. “Are you so eager to be away from me?” he asks quietly.

Shit. “No, but it’s just… you’re not _my_ Tim.” His Tim who he’d have to explain quite a bit to, assuming he wakes up remembering everything that’s happened here.

“You’re not my Knight, either. But if you were to find yourself trapped here…”

Jason shakes his head and jerks his arm out of the Cheshire Cat’s grasp. “I don’t wanna think about that right now. Let’s focus on Tweedle Dick and the vorpal sword. If that fails, then we can revisit this. Fair enough?”

The Cheshire Cat nods firmly. “Yes. Now, let me lead. You sound like a walrus lumbering through these woods.”

Jason lets the Cat pass and quietly fumes over the insult to his stealthiness as he follows after him through the underbrush, the winding trail left behind.

It takes them almost half an hour through dense woods and foliage to make it to the edge of the garden. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Jason is glad Tim-Cat is there to guide him because what waits for them is more than enough to make even him think twice. They kneel in the underbrush, eyes locked on the massive beast crouching before the gate. 

The Bandersnatch is a feline of immense proportions, a cross between the silvery gray movie version Jason recalls so clearly and what he’s pretty sure would be Battle Cat if He-Man and the Masters of the Universe came to life. Now he knows his head is messing with him because crossing genres is exactly something it would do. 

“Shit,” Tim-Cat mutters under his breath. “He’s here too.” 

“Who?” Jason is still stuck on the size of the Bandersnatch and the long fangs hanging out of its mouth. This has to be what a sabre-toothed tiger looked like before evolution and the end of the last Ice Age took its course. 

“Are you blind? The Red Knight. On the Bandersnatch’s back.” 

Jason’s gaze tracks upward and curses when he realizes the gigantic cat has a rider. 

A man sits astride the Bandersnatch, unmoving even as the clouds above them rip open and rain starts to fall, viciously tearing across the landscape and blurring what little details Jason is able to make out before his sight is stolen by the deluge. 

The Knight is a large man, heavily armored across his chest and broad shoulders, his face shielded by a red helmet not entirely unlike Jason’s own, the eyes glowing eerily in the rain. But there is something he’d caught a glimpse of, something that makes him question if his initial gut reaction is even right. Because if it is, then he has a very good idea about what kind of castle is awaiting him beyond the tall hedge. 

Lightning flashes overhead and Jason is able to catch another glimpse of the outlined symbol across the Red Knight’s chest. His suspicions over the Red Queen’s real world identity grow even firmer while he tries not to groan because the geometric lines form a pattern that he knows all too well. 

The barred diamond of Arkham Asylum.

“Fuck me, who the hell did I piss off to deserve this?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo... who thought I'd completely forgotten about this story? I actually wrote myself into a corner and it wasn't until recently figured out how to get out of it. Still looking to complete this in about two more chapters! All my love to Nykyrianne for the beta read and helping me out of that corner!

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim-Cat spares a quick glance at Jason before returning his attention to the Red Knight and the Bandersnatch. 

“It means I have shit luck.” Jason sighs because the universe just loves to use him as a punching bag. If the Red Queen is who he thinks she is, then there are probably going to be all kinds of other baddies to deal with on the other side of this hedge. 

He and his subconscious need to sit down and have a little talk because seriously, _what the fuck?_  

“What’s the plan, Cat? You know this place, I don’t.” Contrary to popular belief, not all his plans include kicking down the door and shooting everything that moves, although in this particular case, he’ll probably have to. 

An assault rifle would be handy right now. Or better yet, an RPG. 

“I’m thinking,” Tim-Cat snaps. “The Bandersnatch doesn’t like the rain any more than I do, so it’s possible we can just wait him out. Once he retreats, it’ll be just the Red Knight.” 

“Seems like using both of them is overkill.”

“It is, which leads me to believe we’re expected.” 

“After what I did to the Jubjub bird, I sure fucking hope so.” 

The Cheshire Cat looks like he’s about to reply when a piercing scream rips through the night, louder even than the storm thundering overhead. 

_“YER NOT GETTIN’ AWAY THAT EASY! RED KNIGHT! FIND THAT BRAT AND BRING HIM TA ME!”_

Jason blinks hard and tries to shake the ringing from his ears. There’s no doubt about it. 

The Red Queen is Harley Quinn. 

Tim-Cat’s ears have flattened against his head. “I hate when she does that.” 

“Yeah, she’s shrill in my world too.” And completely nuts, but ever since Harley gave her puddin’ the big fuck you, she seems to have settled down; rumor has it that she’s in a relationship with Poison Ivy now. Tim’s been meaning to track that down and see if there’s any validity to it. Jason doesn’t care in the slightest. 

At least until it impacts him in some way. 

They watch as the Red Knight silently dismounts, running a hand along the sleek fur of the Bandersnatch’s back. The touch speaks of ownership, rather like how Damian behaves around Titus. He disappears through the hedge, but not before another lightning flash reveals the knives sheathed on his thighs and the sword strapped to his back. Jason is no stranger to a knife fight; however, he’s a bit rusty with swords. His best bet is to take this guy out at long range. 

Still, Jason frowns at the way he moves, his long strides familiar. Whoever is under that armored helmet, it’s not the Joker. But who else could it be? A fighter for sure and one he knows well, which narrows the list of possibilities down quite a bit. 

The Bandersnatch backs himself up so that the hedge provides shelter from the rain. Water sprays everywhere as he shakes, then settles back into a crouch. His eyes gleam red as lightning streaks overhead. 

“Do you think the brat the Red Queen spoke of is Tweedle Dum?” Tim-Cat asks in a low tone. His hair and tail are soaking wet. “He’s quite nimble, much more so than his brother.”

“If this Tweedle is anything like my brother Dick, then he can probably contort himself out of just about anything.” Jason unsnaps one of the holsters strapped to his thigh and draws out his favorite gun. It’s time to get down to business. “What are some of the Bandersnatch’s weak points?” 

He purposefully doesn’t call it a cat. His companion probably wouldn’t like the comparison. And people say he has no tact.

Tim-Cat sniffs. “I do a lot of crazy things but getting up close and personal with the Bandersnatch is not one of them.” 

Jason sighs, wishing he were anywhere but here. “Okay, here it goes.” 

Crouching in the brush, he takes careful aim. With the clouds and rain, visibility sucks, and he wishes that he’d been wearing his hood when he got gassed because then he’d at least have infrared and night vision in the display. Then again, if he’d been wearing his goddamned helmet, none of this would be happening in the first place. 

Hindsight’s a bitch. 

The Bandersnatch is a pale blur under the shadows of the hedge and Jason waits, needing to time this perfectly.

Lightning streaks across the sky and Jason fires, the retort loud as the gun expels gases from burnt gunpowder and the bullet exits the barrel at supersonic speeds. 

Out of nowhere, small figure suddenly uses the back of the Bandersnatch as a springboard to vault out into the open. 

It’s Tweedle Dick.

The boy staggers as he hits the ground, some injury preventing him from nailing a landing the real Dick could do in his sleep, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to run for cover. 

At the same time, the Bandersnatch cries out in pain as his eye explodes, blood running down the gaping wound. He rears up and shakes his massive head, crying out again before collapsing to the ground.

“Shit!” Tim-Cat doesn’t waste anymore words. As soon as the Tweedle appears, he’s already moving, racing across the grass to grab the boy before disappearing entirely.

Well, that didn’t go exactly as Jason thought it would, but whatever, he’s got the opening he needs. He bursts out of the underbrush and books it for the hedge. The cries of the Bandersnatch must have alerted the castle and the Red Knight has to be on his way back. 

If it were Jason’s kitty that just got shot, he sure as fuck would be. 

The big beast is still breathing as he squeezes past it, its bulk mostly blocking the pathway carved through the hedge. It’s tempting to shoot again to make sure it stays down, but Jason is fairly sure he’ll need every bullet he has when he faces whatever else this night brings him. 

On the other side of the hedge, he emerges just as lightning cracks again, illuminating an altogether too familiar sight. 

Arkham Asylum. 

It’s no castle, but it doesn’t need to be. The old Gothic building looks like it belongs in a horror flick. Jason hugs the dark hedge, using it for cover as he scopes out the area. An ill-maintained lawn full of dead weeds lead up to the main entry. From the front, everything appears the same as what he’s used to when he’s wide awake. 

And if that’s the case, then screw going in the front door. There’s a side entrance and a back door, as well as a rooftop hatch that leads into what’s still the attic. 

Thank fuck he has his grapple gun. It’ll save a lot of time. 

The lightning flashes again and in the ensuing darkness, Jason runs across the lawn, swinging wide to avoid the main path. Thunder finally booms overhead, and the rain falls harder. The weather sucks, but it provides him with the needed cover to make it to the side of the Asylum. Another flash and the grapple line shoots upward, catching on the edge of the roof. 

Back home, breaking into Arkham isn’t quite so easy, but he knows better than to let his guard down. He’s about to deal with Harley Quinn and considering just how fucked up his subconscious is, that means the Joker can’t be far. 

On the roof, the hatch is exactly as he remembers it, a heavy steel plate that’s a bitch and a half to raise on his own. The opening is a gaping maw of utter blackness and Jason can’t suppress the shiver that runs down his spine. This fall isn’t going to be like his last one, he just knows it. 

He digs into his jacket for a glow stick. Cracking it, a lurid blue light appears and he drops it down through the hatch. Other members of his family use green ones, but he refuses to. The color connotation messes with his head. 

The glow stick doesn’t go far and lands on the wooden floor of the attic. 

Well, guess he was wrong then. Jason lowers himself through the opening, hanging on to the edge with his gloves before dropping the rest of the way through. It’s only a few feet and he lands with a soft _thud_ that raises dust. 

He picks up the glow stick and looks around. No one has been up here in years, not with the layer of dirt and grime everywhere. Formerly white sheets cover unused furniture and there are stacks of boxes and trunks scattered around with no rhyme or reason. 

Orienting himself, Jason picks his way toward the back of the attic where the stairwell leading down into the upper level of the Asylum should be. The dust is almost overwhelming, so he searches for his rebreather, quietly berating himself for not thinking of it sooner. 

In fact, he really needs to get his head in the game because now that Tweedle Dick apparently managed to mostly rescue himself, he’s got one less concern to deal with. All that matters now is the vorpal sword. 

The rebreather helps and he’s at the top of the stairs in no time. As he pockets the device again, a sudden thought has him pause. 

What does the sword even look like? 

Jason wants to kick himself in the ass for not asking the White Queen or the Cheshire Cat when he had the chance. Knowing his luck, there will be hundreds of swords in here and he’ll have to test each one to see if it goes _snicker-snack_ like the poem promises. 

_“’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe…”_ he recites under his breath as he starts his descent. The nonsensical words had always stuck with him and he remembers what Tim-Cat said earlier about the mome raths disappearing from the White Knight’s old home. 

His hand is on the doorknob when he hears the quiet sneeze from somewhere behind him. 

Instincts kick in and Jason has a gun in hand, thumbing off the safety as he whirls around to face whatever danger that just announced itself. 

Tim-Cat is crouched at the top of the stairs, rubbing his nose. He sneezes again and his ears twitch in agitation. “I hate dust.” 

Jason points the gun at the ceiling and clicks the safety back into place. “Jesus fuck, Cat. What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Helping you, remember?” he replies testily. 

“I thought you’d stay with Tweedle Dum,” Jason says. He doesn’t want to admit that he hadn’t fully believed the Cheshire Cat would put his hide on the line to help him find the sword. “Transporting two kiddos in one day has to take a lot outta ya.” 

“It does.” Tim-Cat rises and gracefully descends the stairs, stopping on the last one so that they’re eye level. His tail is noticeably angled up and away the floor, still dripping from the rain. “But I said I would try and protect you while you search for the sword. I meant it and rescuing Tweedle Dum hasn’t changed that.” 

There are a number of things Jason can say, first and foremost that this is a dream and he can’t be killed, but the little niggling doubt in the back of his mind asks if he’s absolutely certain about that. Second, and he really doesn’t want to think about this, is that everything he’s experienced since he got a face full of that gas is _real_ and that damned sword is his only way back. 

Instead, he takes the time-honored path favored by all Bats. Avoidance. 

“How’s the kid?” he asks, holstering the gun. 

Tim-Cat shrugs. “Alive. Saying something about a trap before he passed out, but we already knew this. I don’t know how he was even able to move. He’s got broken ribs and his foot shouldn’t be able point in the direction it is.”

“Adrenaline is an amazing thing.” Jason rests a hand on the doorknob, then asks one more question. “How did you find me? I thought you didn’t teleport around here?”

“I don’t. But in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I do more than just vanish and reappear elsewhere. I can _sense_ you, which makes it very easy to track you, even up the side of the castle and into a dusty attic.” 

Jason recognizes the less than subtle rebuke for what it is. The Cat is clearly ruffled by more than just the rain and he remembers his words from earlier that were pretty much an invitation for him to stay. An image of his Tim flashes before his eyes, one with that devious little smirk that never bodes well for anyone (including him). 

It doesn’t stop him from releasing the knob again. Jason grips the back of Tim’s neck, gloves catching in the wet strands of hair. “I’d ask if that makes me special, but we both know the answer is no. It’s just something you do.” 

“You are such a jackass.” 

“Like you’re any better, Cat.” Jason punctuates the statement with a kiss, capturing those lips that look and feel just like Tim’s. If he has to stay here, if he’s completely trapped (if this isn’t a dream), then he could possibly find some semblance of happiness in these arms.

That is if the pain of what he’s lost doesn’t drive him mad. _Tim._

If there’s ever been a shred of doubt that he loves Tim Drake, it vanishes from his mind. 

Jason draws back and releases the Cheshire Cat. “Come on. Time to find that sword.” 

As they exit the attic, neither one notices the ruby red eyes of a dark green lizard slowly blinking after them. 

~*~*~ 

The upper levels of the Asylum are a bust, not that it’s really any surprise. The Arkham of Jason’s memory uses the above ground levels for offices, treatment rooms, and guest facilities. Everything is all nice and shiny to divert attention from the real dangers below ground. This version seems to be following the same pattern, a fact which puts Jason more and more on edge the lower they get. 

Although that could be the complete lack of noise coming from anywhere besides the storm still raging outside. 

Even Tim-Cat is on edge, ears and eyes darting all over. But it’s his tail that reveals just how agitated he is as it lashes from side to side. 

“Simmer down, Cat,” Jason says after he almost shuts a door on Tim’s precious tail. 

“I hate this,” the Cheshire Cat replies in a low tone. “If I dared to use my power here, we’d have found the sword by now.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. But at least this way keeps us from having to face the Red Knight. He’s probably pissed about what I did to his pet.” 

“I’d be pissed too if someone shot me in the face.”

Jason shrugs, not wanting to get into it. He did what he had to like the good little soldier he no longer is. 

Their search of the upper floors complete, they cautiously pick their way toward the stairs leading down to the main level. Jason kneels a few feet back from the balustrade and listens intently. There’s some light coming from below, the source still undiscernible from up here. What disturbs him though is that his memory of reality is now distorted because what he sees isn’t the main entrance for Arkham. Wide and expansive, the open space with its fine wood panels and vaulted ceiling belongs right out of _Gone With the Wind_ or, worse yet, Wayne Manor. 

The sudden change is unsettling, and Jason is reminded yet again that his subconscious is a dick. 

The silence drags on.

“Have you ever been here before?” Jason asks, inching his way closer to the rail. 

“A couple of times,” Tim-Cat replies. He hunkers down beside him and peers into the shadowy twilight below. “There’s a parlor just off the foyer where the Red Queen would make us wait whenever the White Queen visited. I remember a fireplace and some hideous paintings. From what it looks like, the parlor door is open and that’s where the light is coming from.”

Jason’s memory helpfully provides an image of the guest parlor at the front of the manor that Alfred keeps pristine. No one is allowed in there on pain of no dessert unless guests were present, and the really good manners needed to make an appearance. 

To him, as well as Dick, having to sit in that room while Brucie did his thing was a punishment. Thank god he doesn’t have to go through that anymore. As the only little bird in residence, that falls to Damian now.

“Are you ready?” Tim-Cat asks, tearing Jason from his thoughts.

“I really wish I had one of Tim’s drones on me right now.” And his hood while he’s at it because for all he knows, the Red Knight has been quietly stalking them from room to room this entire time and is just waiting to say _boo_ when they head down those stairs. 

“I don’t know what that is, but it’s not too late to change our approach.” Tim-Cat shuffles a little closer to the stairs. “We can still backtrack.” 

Jason is about to reply when something breaks the long silence. Wild and maniacal, it’s a sound that sends chills down his spine and a flash of terror in his heart, a reaction he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fully suppress.

_HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA_  

Tim-Cat hisses and scrambles back, ears pressed flat against his skull and tail stiff from fear. “No. Oh, no. No, no, no. She’s released _him.”_

There is no doubt Jason knows exactly who he’s talking about, but he still has to check. “Him who?” 

“The Jabberwocky.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter won't be what it is without the lovely Nykyrianne. Thank you for your patience with all the drafts I sent your way!

_And as in uffish thought he stood, the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, came whiffling through the tulgey wood, and burbled as it came!_  

Well, that’s one thing the poem definitely has wrong. This version of the Jabberwocky doesn’t burble. It cackles, the sound of which makes nails on a chalkboard seem like the finest symphony orchestra. 

Jason comes up with a new name for the creature, one that will probably fit better than he cares to think about once he has a chance to see it. 

The Jokerwocky. 

Abruptly, he stands and heads to the top of the stairs, his long strides eating up the short distance. 

“Are you crazy?” Tim-Cat hisses. He follows and manages to snag his claws in the back of Jason’s jacket before he descends. “The Red Knight could be anywhere.” 

“Thought you could sense him?” Jason tries to shrug off the Cat, but he doesn’t let go.

“I can’t. Not him. The Red Queen has done something to his aura. He’s like that dark spot you see if you look at the sun for too long. There’s nothing until he’s right on top of you.”

“That has to suck for you.” 

Tim-Cat scoffs. “I have no idea who he is, so yes, it does. Anyway, will you just slow down? This is a trap, in case you’d forgotten.” 

He hasn’t. But he’s sick and tired of these goddamned games. “Yeah, it is. But is it for me or for you? The Red Queen doesn’t have a fucking clue who I am, so everything that’s happened since I got here has to be directed toward the White Queen, and by extension, you. Or do the Tweedles get kidnapped on a regular basis?” Dick still can’t quite live down his old nickname of _Boy Hostage_ , no matter how old he’s gotten. No one comes even close to the number of times he’s been taken captive, on purpose or not. 

The Cheshire Cat’s grip tightens. “What you’re speaking of is an act of war. There hasn’t been one since the Court of Cards toppled and the Red and White factions took power.” 

Yet again, Jason marvels over the depth and richness of the world he’s dreamed up. When this is over (it has to be over soon, it has to be), he might just have to write this shit down, if only for his own amusement. 

“I’m surprised your Knight’s death didn’t start a new one.” 

“The White Queen wouldn’t let me.” Tim-Cat’s tone says exactly what he still thinks about that and Jason can’t blame him. If the roles were reversed and something happened to his Tim… well, it’s not gonna be pretty.

“I’ll lead then,” Jason replies. “No one here expects me. Just watch my back and take any opportunity you see to grab the sword.”

Tim-Cat growls low in his throat and presses his lips to Jason’s in a brief yet fierce kiss, nipping at his bottom lip with those sharp fangs. “I know better than to warn you about not doing anything dangerous, so don’t do anything stupid.”

Jason grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

~*~*~

There’s something missing when Jason saunters into the parlor like he owns it the place. All the hideously rich furniture and presumptuous paintings are there and exactly as he remembers. Even the curtains match his memories. A surprisingly cheerful fire is laid in the fireplace, glowing warmly against the gloom. 

No, what has him stopping short is the annoying lack of anyone in the room besides him. 

What the hell is going on?

“I thought for sure she’d be in here,” Tim-Cat mutters behind him. “Why else have a fire when the rest of the house is dark?”

“This is Harley Quinn or your world’s version of her,” Jason replies, cautiously stepping further into the room to look around. “I never pretend to understand what’s going on in that head.”

The Cheshire Cat slinks his way around him and stops, planting hands on hips as he frowns. “What are we missing?”

_HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA_  

It still echoes from everywhere and nowhere, a disembodied voice that, in an odd way, really does burble. If you called sending shivers down your spine and icepicks into your brain a proper burble. Jason would much rather hear a burbling brook in some idyllic countryside than this shit. 

He’s had enough. “Shut the fuck up!” he shouts into the void that is the empty house. “No one wants to hear your shitty laugh!” 

The silence is even more disturbing than before. 

Tim-Cat wheels around and smacks him. “I swear, you must be mad. That’s the Jabberwocky!” 

“Who can die just like anyone else with the right piece of equipment,” Jason retorts. They need to find that sword so they can get the fuck out of this nightmare. “I’m sick of this little game. Besides, I think know where they are.” 

The Cat pales. “Where?”

“In the cave beneath the house.” 

“The what?” 

Jason jerks his head toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you.” 

“How do you even know…?” 

He places a hand on the door frame and looks back at the disgruntled cat. Tim’s tail lashes wild from side to side, the only sign of his agitation. “Because I know the inside of this place like the back of my own goddamned hand.” 

To prove it, Jason marches out of the room, across the foyer, and heads deeper into the house, his steps unerringly heading toward a room that in the waking world is Bruce’s study. 

It’s almost annoying that it still is when he opens the door. Doubts he had about this being something other than a dream start to dissipate, leaving behind questions over just how fucked up his head really is.

The study is almost pitch black, the only light coming from a freshly cracked glowstick and the occasional lightning from the storm still churning overhead. But all the furniture is as it should be, and Jason is tempted to take a closer look at the pictures hanging on the wall. Is there one of him, locked in stasis as the world moves on around him? Or are portraits here like in Harry Potter and the images come to life? 

He’s crossing enough genres that it’s entirely plausible. 

Tim-Cat is cautious as he peers around him, eyes luminous in the eerie blue glow. “What is this place?” 

A number of answers come to mind, but Jason picks the most honest one. “A place where, for the first time in my life, I was given magic.” 

“You’re a magician?” 

“Not literal magic,” he explains. “But at the time, it sure felt like it.” 

Call him a sap, but Tim makes him feel the same way and not just because of what he can do with his tongue. 

Jason digs through his jacket and finds his actual flashlight. No point in hiding their presence anymore, not that they were doing that stellar of a job anymore. “Here, it’ll probably be pitch black down there.” 

Tim-Cat holds it up curiously. “What is this?”

“A light that won’t go out.” It’s got the Batman seal of approval on it, it sure as fuck better not go out because of a cheap-ass battery or shitty bulb. “Click that little switch.” 

“Oh wow,” the Cheshire Cat breathes as he complies, the strong beam of light illuminating the far side of the study where an old grandfather clock rests tall and proud against the wall.

“Hold it right there,” Jason instructs, crossing the study in a few swift strides to stand in front of the oh-so-familiar clock and adjust the time. 

For some reason, his heart starts pounding, the beat loud in his ears. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, maybe it’s the anticipation of finally getting to punch something. Hell, maybe it’s the fact that this dream quest/hallucination will be over soon. Whatever it is, the adrenaline rush is welcome. 

Especially since the Red Knight lunges out of the clock entrance as soon as Jason opens it, sword in hand and ready to make his life fucking _hurt_. 

“Goddammit!” 

He ducks under the initial strike, hearing Tim-Cat’s surprised shout and not being able to do a damn thing about it as he focuses on not getting sliced with a sword that’s making a very strange noise every time the Red Knight swings. 

Almost like… 

Jason dances out of the way again, doing his best to stay out of range of the blade that’s going _snicker-snack_. 

“He’s got the vorpal sword!” Tim-Cat cries out, voice laced with indignation and rage. “He’s using my Knight’s sword!” 

The outburst draws the attention of the Red Knight. He pauses, gaze shifting from Jason to the Cheshire Cat. A low growl is heard from under his helmet and he lunges to the right to try and get around Jason. 

He’s not fast enough. 

“Nice try, buddy.” Jason slams into him, trying to force the man off balance enough to trip him, but it doesn’t work. The Knight recovers his footing but tries again to move past him toward Tim-Cat.

Jason feels rather smug that he called it earlier, that all of this is a trap of some sort for the Cheshire Cat, emissary or whatever he is, of the White Queen. “He’s after you, Cat! Get outta here!” 

“Like hell I will!” Tim-Cat shadows his footsteps, keeping the light aimed at the Red Knight as he bounces around the room, as much at ease on the furniture as he is on the floor. 

Once again, Jason wishes he had his own hood with him. The protection it provides would even the odds as the vorpal sword gives the Red Knight a much longer reach. He’s at a disadvantage unless he can get in close. Faster than conscious thought, he analyzes the Knight’s movements, his armor, looking for a weakness. He’s good, Jason will grant him that. Very good. What he needs is a distraction, something to make his opponent sloppy. 

That gives him an idea. “What the fuck’s got you riled up, huh? Pissed off about your pet kitty?” 

Behind him, Tim-Cat makes a strangled sound. “What are you doing?” 

“What I do best.” Jason avoids another swing and instantly ducks low, trying for a leg swipe that fails as the blade follows after him. He rolls away and bounces back to his feet. “That was me, fucker. What kind of owner are you, leaving a poor, defenseless Bandersnatch out in the rain?” 

The Red Knight doesn’t say a word, but his breathing grows more ragged and his swings more and more erratic the longer Jason runs his mouth. Despite that, he doesn’t provide an opening, his offense seamlessly blending into defense the few times Jason attempts an attack.

And then it's there. 

But the opening isn’t there for him. It’s for the Cheshire Cat.

Tim-Cat leaps from his perch on the desk, claws extended, leaving the flashlight behind. He lands on the Red Knight’s back with a feral howl, slashing at the material comprising the Knight’s armor. “Give it back! Give it back!” he growls, sending shreds of metal and fabric everywhere. 

Jason is momentarily startled because those very same claws were digging into his shoulders this morning, but then he’s moving, taking that step into the reach of the sword and grabbing hold of the Knight’s wrist, wrenching it wide and away from him. 

They struggle for control, the Knight not completely out of the game yet even with the Cheshire Cat still wreaking havoc from behind. The Knight tries to redirect them, crowding closer to the still open doorway leading down into the cave, but Jason plants his feet, adjusts his grip, and sends the helmeted man head over heels. 

Tim-Cat jumps gracefully from his back to land on his feet, pivoting smoothly to kick the vorpal sword out of the Knight’s hand. “If this sword belongs to anyone, it’s me,” he hisses, picking it up while staying well out of reach. 

Jason can’t fault that logic, but he’s got other things to deal with. He’s quick to follow the Red Knight to the floor, pinning him and making a point to drive his knee into the shredded remains of what looks like a flak jacket. There’s no time to question the material, out of place as it is in this dreamscape, as the Knight finally makes a sound, a harsh grunt that turns into a growl. 

The cowled helm turns toward the Cheshire Cat. “Mine,” a deep voice rasps out. 

“Nice try, asshat,” Jason replies, digging his knee in harder to force another pained grunt. “But that sword belongs to the White Knight.”

Technically, it probably belongs to the White Queen, but he has no plans to get between Tim-Cat and Babs when they try and figure that out.

“Mine,” the Red Knight says again, this time trying to inch his way along the floor toward the Cheshire Cat despite being immobilized. 

“Single-minded, aren’t cha?” Jason comments. He has his hands full trying to keep the Knight still. The big man twists and squirms just like he does whenever Dick or Bruce manages to pin him on the training mats. Dick, the annoying fucker, likes to sit on him.

“He sure is,” Tim-Cat replies. He carefully tucks the sword into his belt and picks up the flashlight, shining it in the Knight's face. “This is the first time any of us have managed to get this close to the Red Knight. The White Queen will be generous in her reward if we find out who's under that helmet.” 

“Whatever, just make it fast. I can't secure him without your help.” 

“Mine,” the Knight growls, sounding more frustrated than before. 

“That shiny piece of metal doesn't belong to you, big guy,” Jason replies, adjusting his grip while contending with a wild buck from the man beneath him. Looks like he's not the only one on an adrenaline fueled high. “This’ll be a lot easier if we tie him up. I got cuffs and zip-ties in my outer pocket. Grab ‘em for me, will ya?”

“I have no idea what a zip-tie is,” Tim-Cat states, but he gamely digs through Jason’s pockets anyway. 

“You’re doin’ just fine.” Jason guides his partner through how to use the sturdy, Bat-approved, pieces of plastic. Once the Red Knight’s absolutely wicked gauntlets are removed, his hands are easily secured. However, when the Cheshire Cat tackles his legs, the bound man doesn’t make easy for him.

“We could just kill him,” Tim-Cat snarls after a near miss with a heavily booted foot. “For all we know, he’s the one who killed my Knight in the first place.” 

The callousness takes Jason aback as he finally releases the Red Knight and kicks him solidly in the ribs to keep him from moving. The knees of his uniform are wet and tacky with blood. “You mean you don’t know who killed him?” 

“The White Queen never told me who it was.” Tim-Cat’s voice takes on a sorrowful tone before firming once again. “Maybe she’ll let me have this one’s head.” 

Jason rests a hand on the Cat’s shoulder, forcing him to look up. “Hey. Far be it for me to tell you not to take your revenge, but I just gotta point out a little something.” 

“What?” Tim-Cat asks warily. 

“Revenge won’t bring back the mome-raths.” 

The Cheshire Cat chokes back a sob, brushing away tears that suddenly glisten in his bright blue eyes. “You’re right,” he says after a moment. “You’re completely right.” 

“It happens sometimes.” Jason shrugs, then nods toward the Red Knight who has finally stopped squirming. “Let’s unmask him.”

He straddles the broad back and feels around for the hidden catches in the helmet while Tim-Cat holds the light steady. Oddly enough, they’re in the same place he has them on his own hood.

Jason’s guts suddenly feel like lead and his hands tremble faintly as he draws off the Red Knight’s helm. It can’t be. Even his brain won’t do that to him.

Right?

Tim-Cat gasps and drops the flashlight, falling to his knees as his already pale skin loses what little color it had. 

The Knight coughs and raises his head, glaring balefully as he tries to buck Jason off him again. “Mine,” he growls, eyes locked on the Cheshire Cat. “My Cat.” 

Jason knows without even looking who the Red Knight is, who he’s been fighting since he leapt out from the clock. The irony isn’t lost on him. 

He’s been battling himself. 

Okay, so his subconscious really is that jacked up because _what the fuck?_ This is so much deeper than Jason wants to explore, not right now when he’s so close to the end. 

Tears are streaming down Tim-Cat’s face as he falls to his knees before the bound Red Knight. “What happened to you? I can’t... I can’t sense you!” 

Jason shoves his own feeling about everything to the side to deal with later. He’s got an idea thanks to another Wonderland-themed villain back home. “Even without the helmet?” 

The Cheshire Cat doesn’t even spare him a glance. “No,” he replies after a moment. 

“Hmm...” Jason removes a glove and runs a hand through the Knight’s matted hair. Just above his left ear, he finds a small lump that shouldn’t be there. “Gimme that light, would ya?” 

Tim-Cat numbly complies. 

The Knight doesn’t like any of this and continues to struggle toward his cat.  

“Hold still, would ya? If I’m right, I know why you’re not in your right mind anymore.” Jason angles the light over the bump and pushes away the hair as best he can. 

Sure enough, there’s a scar, about an inch long and as thick as Tim’s pinky.  

“What is it?” Tim-Cat asks, rousing himself from his grief. Considering what he said just before they unmasked the Knight, he’s probably feeling like a complete and utter ass.  

“Something was done to his head. I’ve seen this in my world before, but always with hats.” Jason frowns and runs the pad of his finger lightly over the spot. There’s no give. “I can feel something under his skin.” 

“Get it out,” Tim hisses.  

“I’m not exactly prepared to do brain surgery, Cat. This could be right under the skin or have wires all over his brain. I don’t about you, but do you really want him to have permanent brain damage if I’m wrong?”  He quietly shudders at the memory of Mad Hatter Brucie. The last thing he wants is to turn any version of himself into that.  

“Then we need to get out of here and return to the White Queen.” Tim-Cat rise smoothly to his feet. “We have what we came for. Help me carry him.” 

The thought of lugging the Red Knight all the way across the garden isn’t appealing in the slightest, but Jason can’t see another alternative. “I don’t want him fighting us the whole way,” he says instead. “Think you can calm him down? He’s reacting to you instead of the sword. I think...” 

It’s vaguely reassuring that the Knight won’t take his eyes off his Cat. Even out of his mind, he knows the one he loves most. Do he and his Tim have this kind of bond? That’s actually kind of terrifying now that he thinks about it, but also rather reassuring.  

“That’s easy enough to test.” Tim-Cat hands him the vorpal sword. “Now give me some space.” 

Jason juggles the sword and the flashlight momentarily and stands, leaving the Knight to squirm around on the floor.  

Sure enough, the Knight completely ignores Jason and the sword. “Mine,” he says again and tries to inch his way toward the Cheshire Cat.  

“Was his vocabulary more extensive before all this?” Jason asks, trying not to be a complete and utter dick. 

“It was.” Sadness etches itself across Tim-Cat’s face as he kneels again and brushes a claw over his Knight’s cheek. The large man presses against the touch as best he can. “He was the finest poet in the White Queen’s court.”  

There’s a quiet dig there, but Jason pointedly ignores it. His Tim has no problem with how he speaks, fuck you very much. “Okay, let’s find something we can bind his back with and get the hell outta here.”  

He glances toward the still-open clock and the dark abyss beyond. It’s like a gaping maw of nothingness, waiting to swallow anything that gets trapped in its grasping claws. A chill breeze moves the stagnant air in the study, damp and with a metallic tang that he knows all too well.  

Blood.  

Closing the door seems like a good idea. A really good idea. Keeping the light aimed away from it, Jason lays a hand on the grandfather clock and pushes with exactly the right amount of force learned through night after night of racing Bruce down to the cave after dinner so they could get ready for patrol.

It doesn’t move. 

Frowning, Jason shoves harder.

Still nothing.

Tim-Cat looks up from his Knight. “This is the Red Queen’s castle. She can do whatever she wants in here.” 

That much is obvious. Jason abandons the door and crosses the room to the window, his strides long and hurried. He’s starting to feel trapped. Trapped in this house, in this world, betrayed by his own mind. 

He needs to get out of here. He needs to _wake the fuck up._  

One of the curtains is ripped from the window, heavy and dusty, but Jason doesn’t think the linen closet off the laundry will be any better and he doesn’t dare venture back upstairs to see if the house morphs back into Arkham Asylum or remains Wayne Manor. The Knight isn’t cooperative unless Tim-Cat is where he can see him, whispering soothing words and lightly caressing his cheek as Jason tends to his back.  

There’s an almost childlike quality about the man. Innocent in a way, at least when he has what he wants.  

Jason is self-aware enough to recognize he’s seeing a certain aspect of his personality here, one that never has a chance to appear these days. Or does it? He spares a moment to think about their quiet afternoons when they first wake up, where both of their guards are down, still muddled by sleep. Their video games and movie nights. Hell, even the occasional food fight when they both are feeling particularly sassy and are making dinner together.  

What’s interesting to see is that each memory has Tim associated with it. Is he the key that fits into the lock that shields and protects that part of himself that had so few instances to reveal itself as a child? 

When he wakes up, he’s got a hell of a lot to think about. Maybe he’ll even take the time to do it.  

Jason sighs and finishes the quick dressing for the jagged slashes ripped into the Knight’s back by his lover’s claws. Those are going to hurt later and he’s sure the Cheshire Cat already feels guilty as hell. He rips another curtain from the window for the makeshift sling they’ll need to haul his dream-self around in. Considering the distance, they’ll need it, especially since the Cat insists they can take turns once they’re out of here. 

“Assuming we get out of here in one piece,” Jason says in a low tone, glancing at the grandfather clock. It’s been deathly quiet since the Red Knight emerged from the stairwell leading down to the cave and he doesn’t like it one bit. 

Tim-Cat follows his gaze. “I would sooner die than lose my Knight again,” he states evenly, almost as though he’s making a vow. 

Jason frowns, but doesn’t poke. For all that this is just a dream, it’s sure as hell masquerading quite nicely as reality. 

The Knight doesn’t like being so close to Jason once they get him into the sling but settles once Tim-Cat shushes him. “Mine,” he repeats, glaring at Jason.  

“I know, buddy. I know. Don’t worry, I got my own Tim.”

It’s slow going as they make their way out of the room, even after stripping the Knight of most of his armor and weapons to lighten the load. Apparently even dream versions of himself are heavy as fuck. The vorpal sword is now sheathed and strapped at Jason’s waist. The argument that Tim-Cat should just teleport and take it directly to the White Queen fell on deaf ears.  

“She tasked you with returning it, not me.”  

Damn logic.  

When they reach the foyer, it’s completely dark, the fire from the sitting room no longer burning cheerfully against the gloom. The darkness feels more oppressive than before. There’s a weight to it, one that drags and bites at his ankles with each step he takes. Jason swallows hard and gamely continues on toward the front door, the flashlight illuminating the way. 

Something is watching them, waiting. Biding its time. He’s been in the game long enough to know. 

Tim-Cat senses it too but doesn’t move from his spot at Jason’s side and keeps the light aimed on the door. His ears are upright, alert and twitching from side to side trying to pick out where the attack will come from. 

They’re just a few steps from the door when the house itself groans, loud and low as the very foundations shake around them. Jason staggers, almost falling to his knees as the black and white tile cracks around them. 

A voice speaks up, echoing around them so that it appears to come from everywhere. 

_“Ja-son. Jaaaa-son. Come out, come out wherever you are. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”_  

Jesus Christ, he’d know that voice anywhere, even without the insane laughter at the end. 

_“Move.”_ Jason all but shoves his way forward and grabs hold of the doorknob. 

“He’s been released!” Tim-Cat sounds frantic, eyes are wide and wild, neck craning as he tries to look around everywhere at once. “Oh, White Queen, the Jabberwocky is _free.”_  

A second voice joins the cacophony, higher pitched, and no less mad. 

_“HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! Puddin’ wants to play!”_  

Jesus fucking Christ on a goddamned crutch. He’d almost forgotten about Harley. This dream has definitely reached nightmare-level proportions. He tries to open the door. 

It’s locked and won’t budge. 

“Fuck.” Jason yanks out one of his guns, ready to shoot the damned lock when the Knight speaks up. 

“Sword.” 

“Huh?” He looks over his shoulder at the Knight. They really could be twins, mirror images of each other. 

“Sword,” the Knight repeats, gaze intent and oddly lucid compared to earlier. 

What the hell does he have to lose? Jason holsters the gun and draws the vorpal sword instead. “Here goes nothing,” he mutters, silently praying he doesn’t break the sword on the lock. Swords aren’t exactly designed to break down doors. 

Another chilling round of laughter echoes through the house and it shudders again. _“Jason. Jaaaa-son. Why are you running away? You’re so much fun to plaaaaay with.”_  

Fuck. No.

Jason swings the sword, the downward stroke cutting right through the door with an audible _snicker-snack._

“Again!” Tim-Cat and the Knight both cry out.

Another swing and the vorpal sword cuts through the wood like silk, the _snicker-snack_ growing louder and louder with each stroke.

Jason sheathes the sword and kicks at the warped wood. Thick panels fall outwards, and Tim-Cat rushes through the gap, turning to pry at the loose boards to widen hole for him and the Knight. 

The Jokerwocky’s and the Red Queen’s cackles grow closer. Jason can just imagine the Joker prowling the halls of Wayne Manor, rictus grin wide and those yellow eyes sharp with intent. To him, this is when the Joker is at his worst, because there is a keen intelligence behind that gaze, one that knows _exactly_ what he’s doing and doesn’t give two fucks about it. 

It’s the expression he wears when all he wants to see is the world burn. 

_“I have a crowbar with your name on it, little birdie. Which do you prefer? Forehand? Or backhand?”_  

Fuck this shit. 

Jason takes a couple of steps back, puts his head down, and charges toward the door. The Red Knight shouts with unbridled glee as they crash through and onto the wide portico beyond. 

Full night is upon them and the storm has mostly passed, leaving nothing but a full moon and hazy starlight to see by. The cool dampness from the rain is welcome in his lungs after the dry stale air of the house. Everything is still, nature herself cowering in fear over the presence of utter evil. 

From outside, it looks like Arkham Asylum again. 

Jason breathes deep but doesn’t stop moving. “Come on. We’re sitting ducks out here.” 

Tim-Cat lopes down the stairs with easy grace, the flashlight leading the way. 

Behind them, the house groans and the Jockerwocky’s cackle turns into a howl of rage. 

_“You’re not playing fair, bird boy! If it’s a whoopin’ you’re awantin’…”_

They’re almost to the hedge when the bolt of lightning comes out of nowhere to strike the overgrown path behind them, knocking them to the ground. Jason struggles to regain his feet, but the Knight is heavy and is fighting against his bonds once again, groaning incoherently in Jason’s ear.

Tim-Cat bounces back up and rests a hand on his Knight. “I’m okay,” he soothes. “We’re going to be okay.” 

Jason is seriously starting to doubt that. “Was that the Red Queen or the Jabberwocky?” 

“I’ve no idea but get up and keeping moving. If we can make the garden, we’ll have a better chance at escaping.” 

_HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA_

It sounds even closer than before. 

Jason crawls his way upright and glances over his shoulder. 

Standing on the wide portico before the broken door is the Joker. At the same time, it’s not as he seems to morph into some demonic hell beast before settling back into the more familiar human form. If Jason were to hazard a guess, it’s almost as though he can’t make up his mind over what form to take. The one from his worst nightmares or the one he expects to see given the situation. 

His breath seizes in his chest. 

The Joker can’t decide on a form because his own mind can’t figure out which is more terrifying. This hallucination is clearly gearing up for some epic climax and has stalled because his own subconscious doesn’t know what it wants to be afraid of more. 

He’s in complete control if he can just make a fucking decision. 

Jason strips the shoulder rig carrying the Knight from his shoulders and lowers the man to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Tim-Cat asks as Jason cuts the bindings from the Knight’s feet. “We need to run. _Now.”_

“Yeah, you do. And as strong as you are, you can’t carry him alone.” Jason gives the Knight a firm look. “Listen to me, buddy. I know you’re in there. I know what it’s like to be trapped with no fucking way out. But there is always a way. Don’t stop fighting whatever it is that’s in your head. You have your Cat back and he’ll do his damnedest to help save you. Listen to him and you’ll soon be free.” 

That odd clarity returns to the Red Knight’s, no, the _White_ Knight’s eyes. “Mine,” he says, glancing at Tim-Cat. 

“He’s all yours. I have my own waiting for me back home.” Jason helps the Knight stand and Tim-Cat takes his hand. 

“You’re going to fight the Jabberwocky.” It’s not a question and they both know it.

“Yeah, I am. He’s been in my nightmares long enough.” Jason draws the vorpal sword and salutes the Cheshire Cat and the White Knight. “It’s been real, Cat. Now go and save your Knight.” 

Tim-Cat nods solemnly. “Maybe you’re not quite the asshole you’d like everyone to believe.” 

Jason smirks, knowing it’ll get under the Cat’s skin because it sure as hell does with his Tim. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

The Cheshire Cat returns his smirk and rises up on his toes to kiss the corner of Jason’s mouth. “Don’t die.” 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.” 

Nodding, the Cat takes a firmer hold of his Knight and together, they disappear through the tunnel in the hedge. 

Jason takes a deep breath. He really hopes he’s right about this because if he’s not, then he’s just signed his fucking death warrant for the second time. There’s no waking up from this, not if it goes south, fast. Raising the vorpal sword, he walks back up the path toward the house and the still flickering Joker. Harley is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn't mean she isn't lurking around, waiting for her own chance to strike. No use worrying about it now.

“Okay, you piece of shit. You wanna dance? Let’s dance.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done, lovely readers! I decided the last chapter will be posted in about a month on a certain someone's birthday. Full circle and all that jazz.


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